


Neighbor

by ScarletDevil1503



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Lonely Steve Rogers, Marvel Universe, Nurse Kate, Nurses & Nursing, POV Female Character, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDevil1503/pseuds/ScarletDevil1503
Summary: Kate has the ordinary life of a young registered nurse – stressful days at work and lonely nights at home with a bottle of wine. Her new neighbor is far from ordinary. Set just before Captain America: Winter Soldier. Steve/OC. AU.





	1. Day 1

**Neighbor**

If you aren't super rich, Brooklyn isn't such a great place to live. That's why it wasn't my idea to rent a crappy one bedroom apartment in the heart of Brooklyn. It was my ex-boyfriend's idea, who is still ironically on my one-year lease but thankfully out of my life.

But I'm so grateful for that terrible idea, and this is the story of why. Let's start at the very beginning.

**Day 1**

**2014**

As I flipped through my six patient assignments at 6 AM for the 12-hour shift ahead of me, I smiled at a familiar name. All the RN's on the pediatric unit knew this patient−she had been with us for months, battling leukemia. Allie May.

Since we were short staffed, I tackled my morning patient assessments and med passes. I saved Allie May's medications for last since she had been sleepy during my assessment. Her mother, Lisa, had been asleep at the bedside.

It was around eight when I entered Allie's room for the second time. When I had her as a patient before, weeks ago, she had been awake by eight eating her pancake breakfast and watching SpongeBob. Today, her breakfast tray lay untouched, and her mother's worried gaze joined mine on her daughter's sleeping form.

"How has she been, Lisa?" I asked quietly, seeing the tired rings around her eyes.

"Weaker by the day," Lisa confirmed, propping herself up on her elbow in her narrow cot. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one worried about her."

I took my stethoscope from my neck to take another listen to my young patient's lungs. Vital signs were great, lab levels didn't look too bad, and all the antibiotics seemed to be right. By the numbers, Allie should have been dancing around the room.

"Sweetie, take a deep breath for me," I instructed, placing my stethoscope on her chest after warming it on my hand. Allie obeyed, cracking one chocolate eye open. "Good morning, beautiful," I added, prompting a tiny but present smile.

Lungs were diminished but fine. Pulses were great. Allie was weak bilaterally on hand squeezes and any other movement for that matter. Finished but unsatisfied, I logged into the rolling computer to begin her meds.

"Any changes to her antibiotics?" Lisa asked, eyeing the yellow and clear vials in my hands.

"Not since yesterday. Her cultures came back early this morning and it looks like the docs picked the right medications for the infection," I said with a smile directed at Lisa to indicate that was a good thing. She smiled back, a weak, unfeeling smile. "Have you seen the doctor today? I asked.

"Just Dr. Arango," she said, referring to our pulmonologist. "He said she sounded fine. No infection there."

"I'm going to talk to Dr. Moore about getting physical therapy or something like that to help get her strength up. Her lab work is looking much, much better."

"That's good news," Lisa said with a real smile this time. "You hear that, Allie? Your blood is getting happy again."

A small "Yes, Mama" came from the mountain of pillows and blankets. I couldn't help but smile.

"They brought you pancakes, Allie," I said, setting up her tray on the bedside table. "Are you hungry?"

"Hmm. A little," Allie said thoughtfully.

"Let's sit you up and get some food in your tummy."

The day bustled on just like any other short staffed day. Minutes turned into hours, to-do lists got longer, and the call bells got louder. Specialist after specialist visited Allie's room and came out with a troubled look on their faces. By the time I spoke to Dr. Moore, Allie's attending physician, it was in the afternoon.

"No, I don't think she needs physical therapy. There's nothing wrong with her muscles." The busy doctor seemed annoyed that I had tracked him down at such a busy time.

"I know her labs are looking better, but she's not. She is weak bilaterally like she wasn't before. It's a change," I emphasized.

"I see that, I see that," he said. "The mother tells me every day. I don't know what you want from me, I can't prescribe miracles."

For my afternoon assessments, I visited Allie's room first. Just like every other time I popped in the room that day, Allie was asleep with the TV remote in her hand. Cartoons blasted like white noise in the background. Her lunch tray sat on her table untouched. Lisa was out of the room, supposedly for lunch in the cafeteria. My empty stomach rumbled.

"Sweetie, I'm going to take your blood pressure again," I said, lifting the remote from the girl's cool hand. Frowning, I grasped her limp hand in mine. Then, my fingers shot to the pulse on her neck. I took her by the shoulders and shook, calling out her name. Dread filled me.

"Code 3!" I yelled, yanking the code lever on the wall as hard as I could. Blue flashing lights appeared over the door as I began chest compressions. A woman's voice over the hospital-wide PA announced the code and the room number.

My co-workers were at my side in an instant, hooking up wires and pads and shouting instructions at each other. My charge nurse tapped me on the back to take over compressions. I stepped away gratefully, wiping sweat from my forehead. Allie's brown eyes seemed to stare at me, and then they were replaced Dr. Moore's frowning face.

"Who's the nurse?" he asked, as if he hadn't just spoken with me out in the hall.

"Me," I said, stepping through the crowd of nurses, techs, and doctors. "I just found her unresponsive, no breathing, no pulse. Her last set of vital signs were within normal limits, no new medications were given today. I assume you saw her labs."

"She's in V. fib now," the nurse on the EKG monitor said.

"Continue compressions, shock at 120 joules, and give one milligram epinephrine," Dr. Moore ordered.

I pounced on the crash cart to retrieve the epi and made my way to Allie's IV. I pushed the medication into her vein hard and fast, shouting, "Giving one milligram epi now."

The nurse recording the code on paper echoed, "One milligram epi given!"

The defibrillator whirred up to shock and the nurse on the monitor yelled, "Clear!" Everyone's hands left Allie's body while the machine delivered the shock. I was up next for chest compressions and my hands planted themselves on Allie's chest immediately after the shock.

Compressions, epinephrine, and electric shocks continued for about forty-five minutes. When Lisa returned from the cafeteria, I pulled her aside to explain what was going on but couldn't find the words. We hugged, both shedding tears that would never heal her dead daughter.

My charge nurse came with me to the cafeteria once I got "lunch" at 5 PM. She asked if I was okay and I said yes, it wasn't my first code. She didn't seem convinced. We finished our usually chatty lunch in relative silence.

Two hours later, my shift was over, but my computer charting had just begun. I hadn't charted my routine assessment or the long note I intended to write about the code. Most of the other day shift nurses stayed to chart as the night shift nurses took over our patients. As nurses do, we chatted as we charted about the day and about Allie.

"She seemed more tired but she also seemed better, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, typing away at my computer. It was already 8 PM. "Her labs were great this morning."

"I heard Dr. Moore say it was probably a PE to the lungs. But she didn't really have clotting issues before…"

One by one, my co-workers left as I made it through my charting checklist one patient at a time. I saved Allie for last, dreading to relive the experience through a narrative note. But the note needed to be written, to show that I did everything I could have done.

9:30 PM.

I returned to the break room to get my purse from my locker, but my locker was empty. I squeezed my eyes shut to remember the last time I used my purse. At lunch. In the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was deserted save for one security guard. My purse was not hanging on the chair where I had sat for lunch. It wasn't anywhere for that matter. "Excuse me," I said to the guard, "Do you have the key for lost-and-found?"

That was a predictable "no."

I pulled out my cell phone to call the hospital operator, who would be the only person who would know where that key was. "I'm sorry, hun. The only person who had that key is the head janitor, and he's gone for the day."

Groaning internally, I called a yellow cab and marched to the front of the hospital. Thank God I had left cash in my scrubs pocket after lunch.

It was 10:30 PM by the time I got dropped off at my apartment. As soon as I punched in my access code, I realized I should have just gotten a hotel room. Of course my house key was in my purse.

I stood in front of my apartment door, mind going blank and immediately filling with thoughts from the day.  _Why didn't I take the time to get Allie up out of bed? My five other patients weren't as sick as Allie was. She should have gotten all my attention today. Maybe she would still be alive. Maybe her mother wouldn't be planning a funeral right now._

Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and sticky, and I sank to my knees. Pressing my hands to my face, I let myself go, physically and mentally. My forehead leaned against my locked door as my body trembled with sobs. Minutes passed without care.

"Kate?"

I froze at the voice and my stomach twisted into knots. It was my insomniac neighbor who was often home in the evenings. I halfway turned, blocking my puffy eyes from his view.

"Steve−sorry−I didn't mean to be loud," I sniffled, pulling myself up without facing him.

"No−I was just worried," he said, touching my arm as if to turn me around. I didn't. "Rough day?" he asked with trepidation.

I sighed, long and hard, to put an end to my tears. "You could say that."

"And now you're locked out of your apartment," he guessed.

I laughed without feeling at his deadpan tone. "You could say that."

"Well…" I could tell he was uncomfortable about talking to my back. "My couch happens to be a pull out."

Finally confident that my eyes didn't look like I had poured salt in them, I turned around with a grateful smile. "Sounds amazing."

Steve was a very attractive guy. He had moved in next door after I broke up with my boyfriend, so thankfully he was spared from our ritual midnight arguments. I didn't know what Steve did for a living, but if I had to guess, it would be modeling.

His apartment was neat to an extreme with retro accents here and there. I had been inside once before to use his washer and dryer. He had offered for me to use them after he saw my nightly trips to the downstairs laundry room. Steve's apartment made me feel like a slob in comparison.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Steve asked, bringing my mind back to standing in his minimalist living room. He was standing at the sink in the kitchen, dreamy blue eyes cast in my direction.

"Actually, yes," I said. I had almost forgotten after such a long day.

"Feel free to use the washing machine. Er−I can lend you some clothes to sleep in," he added with an awkward smile, filling a kettle with water. "Tea?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said, avoiding sitting on the couch in my dirty scrubs. I sat on a metal stool (a bleachable surface) at the island in the kitchen. "You drink tea?"

"Sometimes," he said, "when it's not socially acceptable to drink coffee, like at 11 PM." His charming smile was infectious.

After changing into a giant T-shirt and baggy shorts with a drawstring waist, I sat on the couch with Steve and tea. I suddenly got nervous sitting with a grown man, but it was a comfortable distraction from the pit in my stomach.

"This is going to sound terrible," I warned, enjoying the chamomile scent of my tea, "but I don't know what you do for a living."

"I work in … business," Steve replied with a blinding smile. "Sometimes I have to travel for my work but lately it's been … slow."

"Do you go to work every day? Or do you work from home?"

"Work from home mostly," he said with a slight frown. "What about you? How many days a week do you work?"

"Three," I replied, noticing the subject change. "Although it feels more like six sometimes."

"I'll bet," he said. "Don't you leave around 6 AM?"

"5:45," I said, nodding with a frown.

"So, you just worked an 18-hour day," he pointed out with a hand on his chin.

I sipped my tea. "I sure did."

"Well, I'm sure it's a very fulfilling career," he said, trying to end on a positive.

"Most of the time. These days are just draining, though. I wouldn't say I feel 'fulfilled.'"

He was silent for a moment, as if deciding on what to say. "Your service is invaluable to folks. I'm sure you're making an impact whether you realize it or not."

"Thank you," I said, unsure just how to react. "You sound like my parents," I added, prompting a chuckle.

"I'm sure I do in more ways than one," he said, smiling lazily. I wondered if he knew just how attractive he was. He was dizzying. His smile began to fade and I realized I was literally staring at him. I broke eye contact and focused on the difficult task of sipping tea.

"Well, I better let you get some sleep." He smiled politely as he got up from the couch. I berated myself for creating that awkward moment.

"Thank you, Steve−for everything. I probably would've slept in the laundry room if it wasn't for you." I smiled, hoping he understood how grateful I was.

"No problem at all," he said, flipping off the overhead light. I noticed the vintage lamp on the coffee table for the first time. "Goodnight, Kate."

"Goodnight, Steve."

…

To say I slept like a rock would be an understatement. My alarm blared the Loony Toons theme at 5 AM and I reached to shut it off, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Sitting up, I saw my scrubs placed carefully on the coffee table, dry and unwrinkled. A variety of protein bars was laid on top.

I smiled, and no thought of the previous day entered my mind. Just Steve.


	2. Day 2

**Day 2**

My charge nurse gave me a light patient assignment—out of pity, maybe?—but I wasn't complaining. Those of my co-workers that were there the day before gave me sympathetic smiles, and those that weren't were quickly filled in. The whole unit felt the loss of Allie, but the day went on like any other day. Lisa called the nurses' station in the afternoon to thank us for everything that we had done. I knew it was said out of kindness, but it also felt like a slap in the face.

I was eager to give the night shift nurse report on my patients and get home. Being more proactive on my charting, I was able to leave right after giving report. Thankfully, my purse was safely in my locker this time, having spent an exciting night at the lost-and-found.

When I checked my phone on my way off the unit, I noticed two missed calls from a D.C. number. Calling the number back, I listened as the line picked up after just one ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, I missed a couple of calls about an hour ago?" I said.

"Hi, Kate. This is Steve, your neighbor." I almost dropped the phone in shock. "I was wondering if you needed a ride home from work."

"Oh," I said lamely. "I'm about to call a cab, don't worry about it. But, thank you," I rambled, avoiding the eyes of evening hospital visitors in the main lobby.

"Well, I'm parked at the hospital if it'll spare you the trouble," he said with slight hesitation.

"You're here?" I asked, walking through the automatic doors.

An audible chuckle ahead of me echoed through the phone line, and I looked up to see a black motorcycle pulled into the valet parking. "Hey," I said into the phone and loud enough (hopefully) for him to hear. His head swiveled to look at me, and a smile broke out on his face. He flipped his phone shut.

"You drive a motorcycle?" I approached cautiously, feeling stares in our direction.

"I  _ride_  a motorcycle," Steve said, his wonderful blue eyes absorbing the dark blue of his shirt. He also wore a ball cap and his brown leather jacket. "Brought you an extra helmet," he said, giving it a pat.

I let a breathless laugh escape. "I've never  _ridden_  a motorcycle before," I admitted, my heart pattering a bit.

"Well, today is the day," he said, offering the helmet with one hand and reaching for my purse with the other.

I stood frozen with half a mind to just call the cab. But the other half, the single woman half, had decided long ago that she needed this. So, I handed over my purse and took the surprisingly heavy silver helmet with an excited smile. Steve made a little victory fist and gestured for me to hop on behind him. The bike was tall, so I had to hold his hand in order to swing myself on. Our bodies were close, and my face looked like I'd had a little too much fun with spaghetti dinner.

"Ready?" he asked after I got settled. "Got a good grip?"

I awkwardly placed my hands on his shoulders, and then moved them down to his waist where they felt more natural. He felt toned and amazing. "Yeah, I think," I concluded.

"Alright," he said, putting on his helmet. He revved the engine before taking off at the slowest possible speed. I prayed to God that we wouldn't pass by any of my co-workers in the parking lot.

As we pulled out into traffic and Steve gave the bike some gas, I gripped on a little tighter. He turned his head and said something, but I couldn't understand through the muffle of the helmets. When we got on the freeway heading home, I was hanging on for dear life. The wind whipped through my thin scrubs, and the twilight skyline of the city seemed more intense than usual. As we passed over the bridge, I let out an elated laugh at the feeling of practically flying.

Steve pulled up to the row of private garages at our apartment building. My legs felt like jelly as I attempted to step off the bike, and Steve offered a hand with a warm chuckle. "So, how was it?"

"Amazing," I laughed, planting my feet firmly on the ground. "I can't believe that just happened."

"That's about how I felt after my first ride." He lifted the garage door with one hand and then walked his motorcycle inside.

"Is this your first motorcycle?" I asked, taking my purse and heading toward the apartment. He fell into step beside me.

"No, my first one was … much older." He laughed, and then gestured to my Honda Civic as we passed by it. "I saw your car here this afternoon. Did you carpool to work this morning?"

"I called a cab," I shrugged, recalling how I stealthily left his apartment.

"I wish I would have known you needed a ride. I wake up pretty early." I felt Steve give me a sideways glance as we ascended the stairs to the lobby.

"Well, thank you, but I already put you out last night. You don't owe me any favors. Actually, I owe  _you_." Steve beat me to punching in our code on the keypad.

"It's not a favor if you enjoy it," he pointed out, causing an eruption of butterflies in my stomach.

I could barely muster the courage to voice my reply. "Sounds like a date to me…"

Steve set his gaze on me as he pressed the button for the elevator, and I realized I had the worst timing. We were about to be standing alone in the elevator together, and I was hitting on him.  _Nice one, Kate._  "A date at 5 AM, at the hospital…"

One slender eyebrow rose slightly.

"If that's your thing," I teased.  _Stop hitting on him, you nasty woman!_

He laughed, dropping his gaze to the floor, and it was the first time I had seen shyness in him. "My 'thing' is more like this: homemade shepherd's pie, at my place, in about twenty minutes." A coy smirk replaced any shyness on his face.

The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, trying to hide my nervousness. "A bachelor cooking at home," I noted. "Are you sure you're single?"

"I am. Are you?"

The smirk remained on his lips, but curiosity sparked in his eyes. "Yes," I said immediately, almost defensively.

"I don't want to pressure you"−Steve's intense look melted into a warm, friendly smile−"but I would love to get to know you better."

If my heart wasn't melted before, it was now molten lava. "Me, too."

Getting dressed for shepherd's pie was even worse than picking my graduation dress, which is saying something. My clothing ranged from cocktail dress to ripped jeans with absolutely nothing in between. I settled on a pink tank top with capri jeans and fluffy socks. Throwing my hair up into a bun, I put a bit of makeup on and headed for my neighbor's apartment.

Steve had changed into a button down shirt, which immediately made me feel underdressed. "What a surprise," he gaffed. "Come on in."

"Thanks," I said with a grin, entering the now familiar apartment. A steaming shepherd's pie sat on the stove with an assortment of drinks on the island. Candles dotted the living room and some kind of jazz played in the background. "Wow, this place cleans up nice," I joked.

"Thank you," he said, pulling some wine glasses from the cabinets. "Red wine?"

"Please," I said, noticing the record player in the corner. "You like antiques?"

"Yes," he called from the kitchen. "That used to be my favorite record … that my parents would play."

I frowned in interest, picturing my parents' record collection. There was a lot of disco and rock 'n' roll; big band was a bit before their time. "How old are you, by the way?" I asked, meeting him at the couch to take my wine. We sat facing each other like we did the night before.

"I am twenty-nine years old." He said it slowly as if he had to think about it.

"I'm twenty-three," I said, propping my head on my hand. "You come across as older, and much more mature than twenty-nine." In my head, I played with the idea of an age gap. I had only ever dated guys my own age.

"I've been told that," he said with a small smile. "How are you so young and already a nurse?"

"Well, I went to college at eighteen, graduated at twenty-one, and I've only been working for a little over a year. Don't worry, even my co-workers wonder if I'm secretly a high school student." I laughed at the semi-true joke while Steve smiled. "Where did you go to college?" I asked.

"I actually enlisted in the Army right after school," Steve said. "Went overseas a couple of times … Found out that the only country for me is America."

"Wow. Did you go to Afghanistan?" I asked.

"A bit," he replied, but I could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it.

"So, now you're in business. What do you sell?" I asked, purposefully changing the subject.

"I do more investigative work than sales. It's complicated." He took a drink after he said this.

"What—do you work for the CIA or something?"

"Something like that," Steve said, and I sensed the end of that conversation. "So, how does a beautiful woman like you stay single?"

I smiled at the compliment but of course I couldn't think of a cool response. "I'm kind of crazy, I guess." I sipped my wine while silently screaming at myself to shut up.

Steve laughed unexpectedly. "What do you mean 'crazy'?"

"Well, I have a career that puts a lot of stress in my life and I just deal with it in my own way, I guess. Not always the best way."

"I can relate," Steve murmured, eyes falling briefly. "What are some ways you deal with stress?"

"Crying, obviously." I rolled my eyes, prompting a surprised laugh. "I like to write, and I love to run."

"Me, too." Steve nodded with a pleased smile. "Where do you run?"

"Out in the neighborhood," I said, gesturing towards the road.

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you out there…"

"I run in the evening on my days off, down towards the bridge."

"Oh, I see," Steve leaned forward to put down his empty wine glass. I placed mine next to his. "I'll convert you into a morning runner soon enough," he stated.

I chuckled fakely. "No, you won't."

Steve smirked at me over his shoulder as he took our empty glasses to the kitchen. "Try me," he said.

"I will," I said defiantly, following him to take a seat at the island while he fixed our plates. "But I only wake up early for free doughnuts."

"A worthy goal," he granted. "But have you seen the sun rise over the Brooklyn Bridge?"

I thought for a moment. "In movies, probably."

"Oh, you'll see it," Steve said, and I totally believed him. If he looked like this wearing a button down, I could only imagine what he would look like in running gear: sweat glinting on his forehead, muscles flexing all over… "At least once," he added, his face coming back into focus.

"Sure." I smiled. "Sound beautiful."

Suddenly, a series of beeps came from his pocket, and he pulled out his flip phone. "Sorry," he said, "I need to take this. I'll be right back." He flashed an apologetic smile before heading to his bedroom. Following him with my eyes, I briefly saw what looked like one of those suspect boards from the movies with all the thumb tacks and strings.

Of course, I took the opportunity to look around his apartment. Everything was in its place—just like yesterday, if not more so today. The fragrance from the candles seemed like apple, which I confirmed with the labels. A copy of Life magazine was on the end table in the living room. A pair of leather slippers sat by the door. Finding nothing scandalous, I sat at the island once again to pour myself more wine. Unnoticed before, a stack on unopened mail sat there. I thumbed through the mail aimlessly−State Farm, a local dentist ad, Bank of America, and a personal letter that was already opened. I glanced at the address line to see Steve's full name−Steven Rogers.

I hummed at the familiar name. It seemed like a celebrity name that I knew. Pulling out my phone, I searched "Steven Rogers" on the internet. Instead of pictures of a person, images of the crime fighting group The Avengers popped up. The summary at the top said: "Steven Rogers a.k.a. Captain America is one of the leading members of the controversial vigilante group 'The Avengers' based out of New York City. The group was involved in the so-called 'Battle of New York.'"

I immediately changed my search to "Steven Rogers with mask off" and hundreds of pictures popped up. Sensing his gaze, I locked eyes with Steve where he stood in the living room, flip phone in hand.

My eyes must have shown my shock.

"What's wrong?" he asked, advancing with concern. I locked my phone's screen before he could see his own face on it.

"Nothing," I chirped, setting my phone down like it had burned me. Ironically, I set it down on top of the stack of mail, where both of our gazes settled. "Everything okay with you?" I asked, heart hammering in my chest.

"Yes, it was just a call from a client," he said smoothly, taking our dinner plates to the small nook table. I followed with my glass of liquid courage in hand. "I'm starving. Are you hungry?" he asked, pulling out a chair for me.

"Yeah," I said distractedly. "You know, I think you have a celebrity look alike," I said, taking a gulp of wine. I felt my pulse quicken.

"Do I?" he asked, cutting into his shepherd's pie. "I think you do, too," he said, trying to change the subject again.

"You look like Captain America from that vengeance group," I blurted out, unable to stop it.

He laughed a little too long at that. "That 'vengeance group'?"

"And you even have the same name." My tone changed from curious to borderline accusation. "'Steven Rogers.'"

Steve shifted in his seat. "I will admit, it is a big coincidence. People tell me that all the time."

I was so sure I would have sworn it under oath. I was so sure I actually stood up from my seat and pointed a shaking finger right at him. "You're Captain America, aren't you?"

Steve stood too, and his stance was almost aggressive. "I need you to lower your voice," he said sternly, holding out two hands as if to calm me.

I nodded, realizing just how loud I had been. "You are him, aren't you?" I practically whispered, voice shaking.

Steve looked torn and then resigned. "Yes," he said, causing blood to rush against the back of my skull.

"Oh, my God," I breathed, feeling my head start to spin. "Are you−?" I sat down so I wouldn't pass out. "Are you good or bad?" I ground out.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crouching by my side. His worried eyes searched my face.

"Are you a good guy or a bad guy?" I asked again, feeling the nausea kick in. Memories of horrible creatures and burning buildings and the missing people posters flashed through my mind.

"A good guy. I'm a good guy," came the quick reply. His face was contorted into a mask of concern and nerves.  _He's not some alien, he's clearly human._

"I know that. I'm sorry," I said, wiping the cold sweat from my brow. "2012 was really rough for me." My voice trembled.

"Me, too," Steve said in a quiet voice.

"I try to block it out, actually," I said, wiping newfound tears from my cheeks so they wouldn't be seen.

Steve was nodding as he looked up at me, still crouched at my side. "I'm sorry you have to deal with those memories. I have memories of my own that I have to deal with. It was a terrible time that I hope we never repeat." He reached up to wipe my cheek, his hand lingering noticeably. Instinctively, I brushed his hand away.

"Why are you interested in me?" I asked quietly. "Or are you just messing with me?" I added, the thought making me shrink back in my seat.

"No, no, everything I've said is true. I do want to get to know you. You're beautiful, and strong, and you're interesting to talk to." His eyes shone with sincerity.

"So, you don't work from home, and you didn't go to Afghanistan," I deadpanned.

"No, I get a pension from the government, and I actually went to Germany."

At that, I rubbed my eyes with a little more force than necessary and stood up all of a sudden. I grabbed my phone from the island and shoved it into my pocket. Steve seemed surprised and visibly taken aback. "I think I should go," I said, already halfway to the door. I felt his hand on my arm and then I was locked in an iron hold.

"Wait," he said. My mind told me not to jerk away but I tried anyway, and his hold didn't even move an inch. "I need to know you won't tell anyone, especially the media, where I live."

"I won't," I said without turning around. My temper flared when he didn't let go, and I jerked again. He released me immediately and I sped for the door, yanking it open with the security chain still in place. He reached over my shoulder and unlatched it gently.

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder into his now unfamiliar eyes. "I need to think about that."

"Fair enough," he said, backing away.

Regret suddenly burst inside me at his downcast expression, and then I left his apartment.


	3. Day 3

**Day 3**

My days off are my sacred days. I wake up late, eat a late breakfast, watch videos online, text friends to make plans, cook enough food for two weeks of work lunches, and, of course, I run in the evenings. This day was different. This day, my life had changed.

I woke up at 7 AM, which was very annoying because my coffee machine was programmed for 9 AM. Instead of getting out of bed, I pulled out my phone and opened the Wikipedia article that I had been avoiding the night before. I read it all, including the "Early Life" section, the "Howling Commandos" section, and even the "Avengers" section. All of it was written in the context that it might not be true. As I did further research, I found that there was a comic book titled "Captain America" during World War II, and there was a conspiracy theory that Steven Rogers wasn't even real. Clearly, that person didn't live in New York City in 2012.

Ironman was real. I knew that. I had seen him in person. I had seen him  _fly_. Ironman worked with Captain America. There were interviews online of Tony Stark speaking highly of Steve Rogers. There were videos online of them  _fighting_  together. I never saw The Avengers in person, but I did see what they were fighting  _against_. It wasn't human. It was alien. If aliens existed, then any sort of creature could exist, including a superhuman soldier.

My coffee didn't taste right. I probably messed up on the coffee-grounds-to-water ratio. After watching all the videos and reading all the articles about Captain America−about Steve, my neighbor−I felt terrible about how I treated him the night before. Initially, I didn't know much about The Avengers. I didn't know if they were the good guys or if they had somehow caused the attack. After all, some people believed that. But I wasn't some people. I had lived through the attack and it had personally affected me, my family, and my friends.

So, in summary, I managed to freak out one of the sole heroes of said attack, who I found to be extremely attractive.

The knock at my door came as a surprise. Setting down my lukewarm, weak coffee, I leaped towards the door and looked through the peephole. Steve. He was running a hand through his perfect hair.

I thought about running to the bathroom to throw on some makeup or brush my teeth, but I knew deep down that he would have given up by then. So, putting on a brave face, I opened the door in my PJ's that said "Hello Pussy" on my bottom and chest.

His blue eyes looked up at me in surprise. "Hi," he said, voice hoarse.

"Hi," I said, acutely aware of my morning breath.

"I'm sorry about last night," he immediately said, as if reading a script. "I should not have lied to you or tried to trick you in any way, and I am sorry. I just want things between us to be like they were before."

That last part scared me just a bit, and I half expected him to pull out a neuralizer like on Men in Black. But at the same time, I was shocked. Shocked that this larger-than-life man could possibly think we could be friends after I found out who he was. In between fear and shock, I was grateful that he even considered me an equal. Suppressing all these thoughts, I forced a smile.  _It's time to put on your big girl pants, Kate._

"I forgive you," I said. "Of course. We're just neighbors, after all."

"Thank you, really." Steve smiled his sweet smile. "I thought I had really scared you off."

"Oh, no," I said with a casual flip of the hand. "I mean, I still have a lot of questions, but you know, that doesn't change anything."  _It actually changes everything._

"Well, my door is always open," he said, sticking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "Actually, do you wanna grab a coffee? Or something?" I added when he seemed surprised by the offer.

"Right now? he asked, checking his watch. "It's 11 AM."

"And your point?" I asked, lifting my eyebrows dramatically.

He laughed, either at my joke or at me, and said, "Let's go get some coffee."

"Great. Meet you out here in half an hour?"

"Sounds good."

As I shut my door, I cringed at the thought of Steve accidentally seeing my apartment, which looked a tornado had gone through it. Dirty dishes were piled by the sink, a load of unfolded laundry was on the couch, PlayStation games were scattered all around the living room, and, most embarrassing of all, a bag of trash was sitting by the door. I mean, what are you going to do when you get home after dark and your trash gets full? Go out behind the building at night and get murdered? No, thank you.

I changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt and then stared at myself in the mirror for at least a minute.  _Is this what Captain America is attracted to? This?_ I tried to think of what I was wearing when he first moved in, when I was helping him figure out the jankey mailbox keys. Probably scrubs. I settled on wearing skinny jeans and a baggy sweater shirt.

Makeup, hair, and a trip to the dumpster later, I was standing nervously outside his door. Captain America's door.  _Should I start calling him Captain Rogers?_ When I realized just how hard I was suppressing my nerves with humor, I almost laughed out loud.

Steve appeared a few moments later wearing a ball cap, a Knicks T-shirt, and jeans. "Sorry about the getup," he said with a self-deprecating grin. "I have to stay incognito in public."

"Totally understand," I said with a small wave, as if I was used to hiding from paparazzi.

I took Steve to my favorite coffee shop that was within walking distance−a mom-and-pop cafe with a Hawaiian theme. After ordering my regular, a latte with an extra shot, Steve ordered a "coffee, black, and make it hot." I showed him the secluded rear-facing balcony, and he decided it was private enough to discuss "certain things."

"Alright, I have to lay out some ground rules first," he said, taking a seat.

"Okay," I said with a skeptical tone.

"For every question you ask me, I get to ask you a question," he said.

I nodded while sipping my latte. "Sounds fair enough. I'll start." I set my mug down with a clink on the glass table between us. "You're human, right?"

"Yes," he said, apparent relief on his face at the simple question. "I'm just … different from your average Joe." Steve went on the explain the superhuman serum that I had read about just that morning. Hearing it straight from his mouth made me feel like I had stumbled into Narnia somehow. "My turn," he finished with a smile.

"Yes, I am human," I injected with a sarcastic grin, producing a laugh from Steve. "Ask me anything," I added seriously.

"Were you born in Brooklyn?"

"Upstate, actually. My family moved here when I was ten," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask about my family.

"I've never been upstate," he admitted. "I would like to visit."

"Well, I already know you were born in Brooklyn from your Wikipedia article...," I admitted with a hesitant smile.

"You read that, huh?" Steve was shaking his head. "Lots of lies on that website."

"Like what?"

"Like the part where it argues whether I really exist or not." He set down his empty coffee mug and sat back in his seat, one leg propped up on the other. "They get the character 'Captain America' confused with the real person," he said, gesturing to himself.

"What do you mean 'the character'?" I asked, sitting up in my seat.

"Well, that's how it all started out back then. I would go around the country as 'Captain America,' putting on skits and shows with showgirls. It was meant to be a recruitment advert and a morale booster." Steve's eyes were fixed on some distant point, as if he were picturing his past. "Then, they actually used me over on the front lines. Fighting like I was meant to."

I considered this new information and carefully tucked it away. "You always wanted to be a soldier?" I heard myself ask.

Steve looked at me with a chuckle under his breath. "I think it's my turn." I flushed when I realized just how intent his gaze was all of a sudden. "Why did you want to become a nurse?" he asked.

"I wanted to help people," I said, reciting my usual answer. "And I wanted to be able to provide for myself."

"Both great goals," Steve said with an approving look.

"Thanks." I finally broke eye contact to glance awkwardly at my feet. "I have a weird question, but I don't know how to ask it," I admitted.

"Just ask." Steve shrugged. "I have thick skin."

I licked my lips, hesitating. "Do you … want to have a normal life, like settling down and having a family?"

Steve's lips formed a line for a moment, but his eyes remained steady. "Sure, I do." A brief moment of silence followed, and I saw thoughtfulness in his eyes. "It's just not the right time. I wouldn't want to put my loved ones in danger."

I sat up a bit more, reaching the edge of my seat. "You think you're in danger?"

"No," he said with a dismissive wave. "But the work I do right now poses certain … risks." I could tell he as avoiding the word "danger." He sat forward and placed a warm hand on mine, which was clutching my mug with white knuckles. "Don't worry, Kate. I shouldn't have said that."

"Sorry." Shaking my head, I forced my nerves down and relaxed a bit in my seat. I already missed the touch of his hand. "I'm a little jumpy, if you haven't noticed."

Steve laughed politely as he settled back. "I just want you to feel safe with me."

I forced a smile. "I do," I said. "I bet you could beat the living hell out of anyone that tries to mug us."

A genuine laugh this time. "That I can guarantee," Steve said with a wink. That wink made my stomach flip like a pancake.

I took a sip of my latte to hide my chagrin. "Who's turn is it?"

"Mine," Steve said. "I wanted to ask what made you recognize me yesterday." A small smile worked at his lips.

I felt my face heat up at the embarrassing memory that was still so raw. "I saw your full name on your mail and Googled it," I admitted.

He made a breathy, almost embarrassed sound, and cupped his face. "That explains a lot." He looked up at me through his lashes.

"I never watch the news," I defended. "I didn't realize you were such a—um—a celebrity." I said the word under my breath.

"More like a historical figure," Steve joked, but I could tell there was some truth behind his words. "It's usually a bad thing if I get on the news. The organization I work for—they don't like drawing attention."

"My turn." I sat up a little. "Do you really work for the CIA?"

Steve laughed without humor, obviously uncomfortable. "I can't really talk about work."

"Oh, that is  _so_ a 'yes,'" I teased, giving him a wry smile.

"My turn," he interjected, crossing his arms. "Who's your idol?"  _He is so good at changing the subject._

"Audrey Hepburn," I said.

"Audrey  _who_?" His eyebrows came together.

My jaw just about hit the floor. "Are you kidding me? You should know better than me. She was an actress, back then."

Steve slowly shook his head as his brow wrinkled in thought. "Must have been after my time."

My phone was already out, searching for  _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ on Rotten Tomatoes. "1961," I said, looking up at Steve for his reaction. "I guess you have a lot to catch up on. Do you not like watching old movies?"

Steve rubbed his eyes as if trying to clear his thoughts. "I don't even like thinking of things as 'old.' I have enough to catch up on in the present as it is."

An awkward pause followed. "Sorry I brought it up," I said in a small voice.

Steve waved a dismissive hand. "Don't apologize. I'm sure you have great taste. Those years—it's just—not my favorite topic." His expression was stoic.

I was mentally kicking myself.  _Great job, Kate. Next, bring up his dead family and friends._  "My turn," I said. "Do you really live an a crappy apartment in NYC?" I used a light tone, hoping to change the mood.

Steve seemed to be more comfortable at the question. "I also have a room in D.C. It's a little less crappy." He flashed a smile.

"Wow. I haven't been to D.C. in years," I said, recalling the trip I had taken with my college girls during sophomore year. Snippets of sober moments between clubs were all that I remembered. I quickly squashed the memories, as if Steve could read my mind.

"The city weathered better than Brooklyn, that's for sure," Steve commented. "I would love to show you one day."

An irresistible smile spread on my face. "I would love to see it."

We talked for about half an hour, sticking with surface-level questions. I quickly learned which topics to avoid and which ones to focus on. Steve Rogers was unlike any guy I had ever met—he showed sensitivity, thoughtfulness, and he spoke his mind. I never caught him trying to look at my body or make sexually suggestive comments, like every other guy I had ever known.

We decided to head home around 2 PM. He said that he had some things to take care of at home, and I pretended like I did too. As we walked back to the apartment, we made plans for a morning run down to the bridge and back. He told me about his favorite running spot in D.C., down by the national monuments. As he described it, I began to wonder if he had a girlfriend in D.C., but I was too afraid to ask.

"Would you like to join me for lunch?" Steve asked as we stood at our respective apartment doors. I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear as I thought about it. His expression was either hopeful or polite; I couldn't quite tell.

"I should let you get back to your day," I said with a fake smile. "And I need to … finish some stuff."

"Okay." He smiled politely at my lame excuse. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early?"

"Bright and early," I promised, turning towards my door to unlock it. "Thank you for the coffee, Steve."

"My pleasure, Kate."

I turned back to find he had already vanished into his apartment. I immediately felt the loss of his presence and berated myself for declining lunch.  _Why do I say the opposite of what I want?_ Entering my dirty apartment, I leaned back against the door and closed my eyes. All I could picture was Steve's smiling face and captivating eyes. It made my chest feel warm and tight.

" _Uh oh_ ," I whispered to myself.


	4. Day 4

**Day 4**

My alarm went off at 5:30 AM. I silenced it and dragged myself to the coffee machine, squinting my way through the dark apartment. As I sipped my coffee, I replied to some texts. One of my friends, a night shift nurse, texted me back immediately.

_What are you doing up so early girl?_

I got butterflies as I typed out my response.

_**I met someone ;)** _

After putting my coffee mug in the dishwasher, I practically skipped back to my room to put my running gear on. I chose a long-sleeved shirt and some black yoga pants. As I was putting my hair up in a high ponytail, my phone vibrated from my nightstand.

_A date at 5 AM? Girl he has some issues_

I started typing an excuse but then deleted it. I didn't want her to worry about me. Besides, Steve couldn't be explained in a single text.

_**I'll tell you all about him later Jess, gtg** _

Steve was already outside my door when I came out with water bottle in hand. He looked amazing for 6 AM, without one hair out of place. "Good morning," he said in a hushed voice.

"Morning," I replied, fighting the urge to check him out. He wore a tight, wicking T-shirt and running shorts. I felt like an ogre in comparison.

"Nice water bottle," he said, gesturing to my Superman bottle.

"It was a gift," I hedged, instantly regretting certain life choices.

"Ah," was all he said, hiding a smile.

The morning air was crisp and a bit chilly. Barely any traffic was on the road—one of the only things I enjoyed about waking up early. We started out at a brisk pace to catch the sunrise at the bridge. Steve ran effortlessly, like he was taking a leisurely stroll. My ragged breaths condensed in front of me in big white clouds.

"How do you feel?" Steve asked after about half a mile.

"Like … I didn't … eat breakfast," I muttered between breaths.

"You didn't eat breakfast?"

"No," I panted. "I'm good, though … I'm good." I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing while Steve laughed lightly, saying something about adjusting.

By the time we got close to the bridge, I had found my stride. Other runners and people walking to work gave us long stares, which made me a bit self-conscious. Steve didn't seem to notice or care. As we approached the pedestrian walkway of the bridge, Steve slowed to a walk and stopped by the railing. "Look," he said, planting his hands on the rail.

The New York City skyline was a familiar and beautiful sight, which I saw every morning on my way to work. Usually, I got to work before the sun even rose, so seeing the skyscrapers bathed in hues of orange was rare for me. I set my hands on the railing beside Steve's. "Wow," I breathed. "I wonder when the sun will rise."

Steve glanced at his watch. "Give it a few seconds."

As if on cue, a tiny sliver of the sun crested over the buildings, casting reddish orange light over the bridge. It danced off the Hudson in tiny golden and red sparks. I had seen the sunrise in New York City before, but not quite like this. I drank it in silently.

"Pretty amazing, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, unable to take my eyes off the sight. The sun was fully visible now, lighting up the whole city. Feeling Steve's gaze, I looked over to see him smiling at me.

"Worth it?" he asked.

"Definitely," I agreed with a laugh. "You know, I live in New York City, but there's so much that I haven't  _seen_."

"I know what you mean." Steve sighed, a sound that I hadn't heard before. "There's a lot to see and not a lot of time to see it."

"Exactly," I said, lifting my water bottle to my lips. As I took a gulp of water, I noticed Steve's eyes track the movement. I narrowed my eyes. "Want a drink?" I asked, offering it.

He hesitated for only half a second. "Sure," he said, taking the water bottle. He took a long, slow drink, and I just about melted into a puddle like a middle school girl. When he handed it back, the look on his face was nothing but smug. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I chirped.

"Race you back?" Steve joked with a jerk of his head.

I smirked. "I think we both know who would win." Before he could respond, I turned and sprinted down the sidewalk at full speed, hearing him burst into laughter behind me. Within a couple of seconds, he gained on me.

"Good form!" he said, jogging easily beside me.

"Thanks!"

His jog then turned into a sprint, and he was suddenly fifty feet ahead of me. I slowed my pace and squinted to see more clearly, and he was a hundred feet ahead. " _What the_ —?" I heard myself say under my breath. After a few minutes, he was sprinting back and falling into pace with me, huge smile on his face.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I had to get that out of my system."

I dropped out of my run and stood with my hands on my knees, catching my breath. "I … have never … seen someone run that fast," I panted, looking up at him sideways.

He stood with his hands on his narrow hips, breathing a little faster than before. A light sheen of sweat was on his forehead. "Thank you," he said cockily.

 _The more I get to know him, the more smug he gets._ I gave him a quirky smile. "You didn't tell me the serum gave you super speed."

Steve shrugged. "More of a side effect, really." He started back at a lazy pace, calling over his shoulder, "Come on—I'm making you breakfast."

Violating my immediate shower rule, I agreed to come over to Steve's apartment when we got back. It was almost 8 AM, and I was starving. I sat at the island in his kitchen as we debated about the perfect running weather.

"How do you like your eggs?" he asked, putting various pans on the stove.

"Scrambled, please," I said, a bit amused. "You know, the last time a guy asked me that was under different circumstances."

"Really?" he said with a smirk, cracking a few eggs into a bowl. "Your boyfriend?"

I hesitated on my response, placing my chin in my hands. "Hm, something like that."

He gave me a sideways look over his shoulder as he faced the stove. "You don't strike me as the type of gal that lets just any guy make her eggs in the morning."

I opened my mouth to respond and then clamped it shut.  _Why do I always self-destruct?_ "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do sometimes," I said flippantly. I was glad my cheeks were already red.

Steve hummed in response, and I could tell he disapproved. "Well, now I know how you like them−for future reference." I could hear the smirk in his words, though he didn't turn around. I just laughed in response.

With his back facing me, I was able to get a good look at his body for once. His neck and shoulders were oh-so-broad and very muscular. The toned lines of his shoulder blades were visible through his thin T-shirt. He had the kind of back that made you want to run your hands all over it. I could only imagine what the front of his torso looked like…

"...bacon?"

I cleared my throat when I realized I had been asked a question. "What was that?"

Steve turned around suddenly, causing my eyes to snap upwards. His face was impassive. "I asked if you like bacon."

"Oh, yeah," I said, folding my hands on top of the island. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Steve said, returning to his stove. I mentally kicked myself. "I've been wanting to ask you something," he added. "But I'm not sure how to ask it."

Now, I really wanted to see his expression. I stood up from the island and leaned against the counter by the stove. "I've got thick skin," I said, quoting him from the day before.

He smiled, recognizing the words. "When was your last boyfriend?" I noticed that he didn't look at me as he asked this; instead, he focused on flipping bacon. "And why did you break up?"

"That's a very fair question," I granted. "I dated my last boyfriend for two years, and we broke up four months ago."

Surprise crossed his face momentarily, which was washed away by apathy. "Why?" he asked.

"Our careers got in the way. We barely saw each other; we drifted apart." I decided to leave out the part where we lived together for almost a year.

"That's a shame," Steve said, finally giving me a sympathetic smile.

I smiled back. "I'm glad it ended. The relationship was toxic for me. After we broke up, it felt like I was breathing fresh air again."

Steve's smile turned into a genuine one. "In that case, I'm happy for you."

"So," I said, dramatically folding my arms. "It's your turn."

Steve let out an abrupt laugh as he arranged my breakfast plate. "Very funny," he murmured. I followed him to the table with determination in my heart.

"It's only fair, so 'fess up," I stated, adding a "thank you" when he poured me some orange juice.

Steve sat back in his seat, black coffee in hand. He looked at some point on the wall as if trying to formulate his response. "I guess you could say it's been a long time since my last 'girlfriend.'"

I munched on my perfectly fluffy eggs while I listened.

"Since waking up from the ice, I wouldn't say that I've had a 'girlfriend,' per se." I was getting a little annoyed by the fact that he kept using air-quotes when he said  _girlfriend_. "Although, I have had some short-lived relationships."

"Flings," I clarified.

Steve gestured incredulously, as if he had intentionally avoided that particular word.

"Relationships are hard," I said, feeling like I had the seniority on this particular issue. "It's kind of like a chemical reaction−you have to have all the right variables in all the right places at all the right times."

Steve was watching me with amusement in his eyes. "I think relationships are mostly based on emotions. Filling the emotional needs of another person, and having your own needs filled."

"There's also the attraction factor," I added, staring at my plate. When I looked up at Steve, I noticed he was now leaning forward on the table. His blue eyes hovered surprisingly close to my own; I swallowed my mouthful of bacon, feeling self-conscious. A smirk grew on his face.

"Do you find me attractive?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

I placed my fork down and then returned my eyes to his. "Steve, you could be a model and you know it."

Steve withdrew with a bashful purse of his lips. "I'm glad you think so," he simply said.

I gave him a small smile behind my orange juice. After a bit of silence passed, I cleared my throat and gestured to myself. "So? Do you think I'm attractive?"

Steve still had a smile plastered on his face. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, and it sent a spike of fear through me. "You're beautiful. One of the prettiest girls I've ever met."

I laughed behind my napkin. "Thank you," I said. "You should see me without makeup." I made an ugly face, prompting a laugh.

"I would love to," he said, and I believed it.

Forcing myself to stare at my plate as my cheeks flushed, I decided I had to change the subject. "So, what are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"I have some research to do. Some calls to make," Steve said, taking a drink of coffee. "What about you?"

"I really should clean my apartment and get some groceries," I said, surprised by my own admission.

"Sounds productive," Steve approved. "Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

I chewed thoughtfully. "Other than sleeping in? No, I don't," I said, immediately feeling guilty for not making plans with Jess.

"Months ago, a friend of mine happened to give me tickets to a Broadway show, since he heard I was renting a room in New York," Steve recalled. He reached for the shelf by the nook window and produced a small envelope.

I almost dropped my fork. "Is is tomorrow?" I asked.

"I think so," Steve murmured, fiddling with the envelope. He placed a small note and two tickets on the table. The note said " _With love, Pepper & Tony._"

"March 4th," I said, putting my finger on one of the printed dates. The show wasn't familiar to me; it looked like a drama. I couldn't help but smile. "That's tomorrow."

"Would you like to come?" Steve asked, holding up the extra ticket.

"Sure," I said, practically beaming.

"Great—"

The moment was interrupted by a series of beeps coming from the kitchen counter, where Steve's flip phone sat. He stood and answered it quickly. He didn't leave the room this time, and I eavesdropped on words and phrases that I couldn't quite make sense of. By the time the call was over, I was rinsing my dishes in the sink.

"Sorry about that," Steve said, suddenly close and taking the soapy sponge from my hand. His scent filled my nose before I politely stepped away. He smelled like laundry detergent and leather, somehow.

"No problem," I said, waving my hands. "I should let you get to it. Thank you for breakfast."

Steve dried his hands and walked me towards the door. "Thank you for waking up early on your day off," Steve quipped.

"You're welcome," I replied, smiling up at him. He was close again−so tall and broad−and I felt my heart skip a beat.

"I really enjoy spending time with you," he said, a quietness in his voice.

"Me, too," I said, matching his tone. My hands itched to hug him, but I knew I didn't smell like laundry detergent. "Thanks again," I said, reaching for the doorknob.

His hand reached over my shoulder to unlock the security chain. "See you tomorrow," he said. I looked back as I crossed the hall, and his piercing blue eyes were following me.

"See you tomorrow," I repeated as I unlocked my door.

_I'm so glad I picked these yoga pants._


	5. Day 5

**Day 5**

That night was the first time Steve made an appearance in my dreams. It was a strange dream−the kind where you wake up only remembering small snippets. I had seen him on the street, trying to find something. Then, we had been in his apartment, and he held me up against the wall…

Rolling over in bed, I reached for my phone. It was just past 10 AM. A text message from a D.C. number had been received around 6 AM.

_Meeting a friend for lunch.  
_ _Would love to take you to dinner before the show tonight._ __  


With a smile, I finally saved Steve's number to my phone contacts. I remembered I had given him my number when he first moved in to make him feel safer; the previous tenant of his apartment had done the same for me. Of course, I never expected him to actually use it. I replied:

_**Sounds perfect :)** _

Laying back down, I closed my eyes and tried to remember more of my dream. Instead, I got flashes of the previous day, when Steve was standing close to me by his door. He had been so close, I could have kissed him. I found myself picturing that kiss, Steve's hands pulling my body close. I imagined how eager I would be, reaching to feel every inch of his body that I could touch. Steve would eventually throw me onto his bed and hold me down while he…

I reached into the drawer of my nightstand for my−well−girl's best friend. I knew it wasn't the most healthy way to handle these situations, but it kept me sane.

As the day progressed, I became more and more nervous about dinner. When I asked Steve where he wanted to go, he said it was going to be a surprise. When I said I hoped it wasn't too expensive, he said it was his treat. When I asked what I should wear, he said to wear a dress. Suffice it to say, my apartment benefited from a lot of nervous cleaning that day.

Around 3 PM, I got a phone call from Steve. I answered it with a breathy "Hello," hoping my voice didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

"Hi, Kate. I'm about to drive back to Brooklyn. Just wanted to make sure six is alright for dinner," Steve said. I heard a different voice in the background say "Hi, Kate" from a distance. I then heard Steve's voice as if he had pulled the phone away from his mouth. " _Tony, please._ "

"Six is great," I said. "I can be ready by five if we're going uptown," I added, picturing the rush hour traffic.

"That would be smart," Steve agreed. "I'll meet you then."

"When you say 'wear a dress,' what kind of dress do you mean?" I asked, pacing around my coffee table. I couldn't remember the last date I had been on that required a dress.  _Prom, maybe?_

"Semi-formal," Steve said. "I'll be wearing a suit, if that helps." That sounded like full-formal to me.

"Please tell me we're not going to that snobby place on the Upper East Side," I asked with a grimace.

"It's not 'snobby,'" Steve said, and I could almost picture him using air-quotes. "But it is in Manhattan."

If eye rolling could make a sound, mine would have. "Okay, sounds great."

"Great. See you at five?"

"See you then," I said.

Two hours to get ready may sound like a long time, but it's actually not. I showered, dried and curled my hair, packed makeup on my face, and then proceeded to try on five different dresses. The red one was too short; the purple one was too long. The black one showed way too much cleavage. The other black one had a hole in it. So, that left the white shirt dress. Though it made me look kind of like a pilgrim, it fit the bill. I unbuttoned one extra button to show a little more skin.

"I hope this is semi-formal," I muttered to myself while looking in the mirror. I was ready just in time.

After waiting outside his door for five minutes, I decided to knock. Butterflies swirled around in my stomach as the seconds ticked by. About a minute later, Steve appeared with an apprehensive smile on his face. "Sorry I'm late. Thanks for waiting," he said in a hurry.

It was the first time I had caught him off guard. "Of course," I said as he ran a hand through his hair. "You look amazing." I gestured to his black suit, taking in an eyeful.

"So do you," he said. Our eyes met once again and I gave a shy smile after being caught staring. When he gave me one back, I realized he had been caught, too.

We decided to take my car in order to spare our heads of helmet hair. Steve insisted on driving, explaining that he didn't make a good passenger. I teased him that he probably wouldn't make a good patient either, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

"So, how was your day?" I asked as we pulled out into traffic. It looked like making it to the restaurant by six was going to be tricky.

"Great. I had a long talk with a good friend−a little longer than expected. What about you?" he asked, glancing at me sideways.

"Just a lazy day," I said, waving aimlessly. "Who's your friend?"

Steve hesitated on answering, but finally said, "Tony."

I smiled to myself at the vague answer. "Tony−who?" I asked. Clearly, I already knew, but I was in a very teasing mood.

Steve gave a small chuckle as he stopped at a red light. "Tony Stark." I nodded while trying to hold back laughing at his chagrined face. Trying to regain dominance in the conversation, Steve said, "Stick around me long enough and you'll probably meet him."

That surprised me. I looked over at his profile as he merged through lanes of traffic to get on the freeway. "Really?" I asked.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Depends how much of me you can take."

I did laugh at that, probably a little too much. Steve shot me an innocent smile. "Probably more than you think," I replied, wiping a tear away from my mascara.

Steve sat back a little after getting on the freeway. Seeing Steve in my Honda Civic was a comical sight. It made me remember the time I saw a Jesus impersonator riding a bike through Times Square. "I think you'll like the dinner place I picked," Steve said, drawing me back to the present.

"I'm excited," I admitted, enjoying how his eyes looked in the evening sunlight. "I haven't been up to Manhattan in a long time."

"It's nice to visit," Steve agreed. "I can only handle fancy things in small doses, though."

I couldn't help but smile. "Same."

We exited the freeway at lower Manhattan, almost halfway to Broadway Street. The choice seemed logical. Before long, Steve pulled into a parking garage in a part of town that I had never seen. He said he had been to this restaurant once before a long time ago, and I suspected that wasn't an exaggeration. Feeling a bit nervous, I was glad to have Steve there.

"Such a mystery," I commented as we got out of the car. I was self-conscious about our formal clothes until I saw other couples and groups in similar clothing.

Steve offered an arm after he locked the car. "I'm glad you don't mind surprises," he said with a smile. A thrill went through me when I placed my hand on his forearm. He pulled my arm close to his body as we left the parking garage.

"So many fancy people," I pointed out, sticking close to Steve as we made our way down the street. Steve seemed to fit right in without one line of worry on his face.

"Makes it easier not to be noticed," he said. The bottoms of the gray skyscrapers around us looked unfamiliar this close up. Steve waved a hand towards the restaurant coming up on our left. "Here we are."

It must have been three stories tall. The marble pillars in the front framed the name that was also laid in marble: "Delmonico's." The restaurant wasn't familiar to me but it sure looked expensive.

"This is it?" I asked as the bellboy opened the door for us with a smile. Steve pulled me close as we entered the crowded dining room. My vision was filled with flashes of red carpet, chandeliers, bottles of wine, and tuxedos. It made my head spin.

"We have a reservation for six," Steve told the hostess, who was looking at me with empty eyes. I immediately realized I was underdressed and felt my cheeks fill with heat. She looked back at Steve when he cleared his throat.

"For six?" the hostess asked, looking at her digital clock that clearly read 6:30 PM. "Name?"

"Steve Rogers."

A look of fear crossed her face when she heard the name. She shot up from her stool with two menus in hand. "Follow me, Captain Rogers."

Steve threw me a perfectly timed smirk and pulled me along after the hostess. If I hadn't been so nervous, I would have laughed.

Meandering through the crowded dining room, we finally reached a glass elevator. A very awkward silence filled the tiny space as the doors closed, and the hostess pressed the button for the second floor. I distracted myself by looking out over the dining room as we rose above the crowd.

"This place isn't quite like I remember it," Steve commented while looking straight ahead. His expression was hard, almost like he was forcing it.

Catching onto his play, I hummed in agreement. "All good things must come to an end," I said despondently.

The hostess tugged at her neckerchief.

Getting off on the second floor, I was relieved to find this dining room to be much quieter. Two lines of tables sat along the glass walls on either side of the elevator, and a small staircase led up to a few private tables by another window. The hostess led us up the stairs toward the table-for-two by the window. "Is this fine with you, Captain Rogers?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," Steve said with a generous smile.

The hostess wore a relieved expression. "Your server will be with you shortly."

Steve pulled out one of the chairs and offered it to me. I sat down with a murmured "Thanks," feeling like I was in Cinderella's castle. Some of the utensils on the table weren't even recognizable.

Steve sat across from me, seemingly perfectly comfortable. "Thanks for helping me with that," he laughed.

I frowned in confusion until I remembered the hostess on the elevator. "No problem," I chirped. "She needed to be knocked down a peg."

Taking a sip of water, Steve made a sound of agreement. "These types of restaurants are stiff, but the people don't bother me."

I narrowed my eyes at that. "Do you get recognized in public a lot?"

Steve nodded with a frown. "If we were sitting downstairs right now, we would have people coming up to us all night."

I was shocked. "Really?"

A small, amused smirk grew on his face. "Really," he said.

"That's unbelievable." I shook my head, trying to put myself in his place. "You're like Bruce Wayne or something."

"Bruce Wayne?" Steve asked, eyebrows coming together.

"Batman's alter ego," I clarified, fiddling with my napkin.

"Oh, right. I meant to put that on the list the other day," Steve muttered to himself, reaching into his suit jacket. He produced a small notepad and pen. I watched him jot something down.

"What is that?" I leaned forward, trying not to be too nosy.

Steve stuck it back in his pocket with a laugh. "Just a list of all the things I need to catch up on. Not my favorite pastime."

I dropped my hand from my chin to the table with a thud. "I  _have_ to see it." Steve's expression became stubborn. "Let me see it!" I put a hand over my mouth when I realized how loud I was. Steve erupted in laughter, causing me to laugh as well.

"Fine," Steve said while rolling his eyes. I snatched the notepad like it was a hundred dollar bill. The list was on the first page.

_I Love Lucy (Television)_

_Moon Landing_

_Berlin Wall (Up + Down)_

_Steve Jobs (Apple)_

_Disco_

_Thai Food_

_Star Wars / Trek_

_Nirvana (Band)_

_Audrey Hepburn (Actress)_

_Bruce Wayne (Batman)_

"Star Wars" and "Audrey Hepburn" were already crossed out, as if he had already looked them up. "Wow," I said, glancing over it a second time. "Do you just search these things on the internet?"

"Yes," Steve said, reaching for the notepad. "Google is a great invention."

I laughed, picturing Steve typing away at a desktop computer. "It's crazy to think that you just skipped through time like that," I said, instantly regretting it. I knew those lost years were a topic Steve didn't like to discuss.

"Well, someone had to do it," Steve quipped, picking up his menu.

I smiled as I studied the lines on his face: two between his eyes, one across his forehead. I knew that if I could get him to smile, the lines would disappear. "Well, I'm glad you did, or else I might be dating your grandson right now," I said.

His eyes snapped up at the word "dating," but he laughed at the end. "Couldn't have that," he said with a smirk.

Sensing an end to the conversation, I looked down at my menu in silence. After glancing it over, I noticed that there were no prices next to the items.  _Oh, boy._

Dinner passed uneventfully, except for the time I mispronounced the word "gnocchi" to the server. I spent the hour and a half trying to get to know Steve better without getting too personal. We talked a bit about his work with The Avengers almost two years ago. The topic of my college years came up and I admitted that I had partied a bit too much as I student. Steve assured me he would have too if he had gone the college route. "The Army was bad enough when it came to drinking," he had said with a glint in his eye. I also discovered that alcohol barely had an effect on him after we had finished an entire bottle of wine, which I found to be pretty unfair.

By the time we left the restaurant, the sun was setting. The streets were busy and the air was becoming a bit chilly. Steve put his arm around my shoulders when I complained.

"How did you like Dominicos?" Steve asked as we headed for the parking garage.

"The second floor was amazing," I said with a grin. He gave me a knowing smile.

"I'm glad you liked it. Tony actually pulled some strings to get us that last-minute reservation." Steve suddenly laughed, giving my shoulders a squeeze unconsciously. "If you need tips on not getting recognized in public, ask Stark."

"Thanks−I'll keep that in mind," I joked. I leaned into him, enjoying the closeness. The wine had definitely gone to my head.

The ride to the theater was short. Instead of using the main entrance, we entered through a side door where Steve said his name into an intercom. An usher led us to some secluded balcony seats. After sitting down, I gave Steve a weighted look. "Tony?" I asked. Steve nodded with a laugh.

The show was perfect. It was a drama mostly about an older woman who fell in love with a younger man, but there were multiple storylines to keep up with. When the unlikely couple finally kissed towards the end, I made a disgusted face at Steve, earning myself a laugh. Halfway through the show, I built up the courage to put my hand on top of his, which was sitting on his armrest. He responded by holding my hand in his, but he kept our hands in between us. My hand was swallowed by his much larger, much warmer one.

We held hands all the way to the car as we discussed the show. A few of the showtunes were still stuck in my head, and I tried singing one out on the street before Steve told me to "Save it for the shower." We debated about the best pizza toppings on the way home.

When we pulled into my parking space back at the apartment, I halfway expected him to kiss me. He slowly pulled the keys out of the ignition while I leaned over the middle console. Our faces were close when he looked over at me.

"Here are your keys," he said, his voice soft in the suddenly quiet car.

"Thanks," I said slowly. I glanced at his lips in the pale light of the streetlamps.

With a kind smile, Steve opened his door and got out of the car. A deadpan expression overcame my face, and I stepped out of the car awkwardly. Steve offered his arm one final time that night, and we walked up the steps into the apartment.

"Thank you so much for tonight," I said as we walked down the hall. "You made me feel like a princess."

"You're welcome." Steve flashed a sideways smile. "You deserved it, Kate."

I stood with my back to my door, fiddling with my keys. Steve watched my movements with a blank expression, hands in his pockets. I took a step forward, closing a bit of the space between us. I wanted to say something to convey how important he was becoming in my life, but I couldn't find the right words.

"Steve−"

His hand was suddenly under my chin, pulling my face up to meet his. Of course, his lips were soft and warm and gentle. My keys hit the ground when I reached for the back of his neck, and I felt his hands gently settle on my waist. The kiss only lasted a few seconds−no tongue−but it absolutely blew my mind. When he pulled back, I noticed a little bit of green in the blue of his eyes.

For a second, the thought of us hooking up crossed my mind.

Then, he smiled.

"Goodnight, Kate," he said as his hands slipped away. My whole body ached when he stepped back, crouching to retrieve my keys. I took them as if they were an object from outer space. Steve turned to unlock his door.

"Goodnight, Steve," I replied roughly, and then cleared my throat as I turned to unlock my door. I glanced back at him as I entered my apartment.

He wore a smug grin.


	6. Day 6

**Day 6**

I woke up early on my third day off, feeling like a million dollars. I made myself a smoothie for breakfast, and then listened to Beyonce while I showered. It had been a long time since I felt so happy and free.

While I was in the shower, I started thinking of reasons to see Steve that day. We hadn't made plans to meet, but I felt as though my day wouldn't be complete without seeing him. I thought of asking to use his washing machine, faking a forgotten item in his apartment, and even staging a burglary. I imagined him bursting through my door in his Captain America uniform, stopping the criminal in his tracks.

I wondered if Steve kept his uniform in his apartment. I wondered if he would show me if I asked…

Putting on a brave face, I decided to just knock on his door to say "hi." I didn't want to seem fake by using some excuse to see him. Then again, I didn't want to seem too eager.  _Too late for that_ , I thought after knocking twice.

Steve answered the door with a half smile on his face. "Kate," he greeted, glancing at his watch. It was 9:30 AM. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just wanted to say hi and … thank you again for yesterday," I added, feeling suddenly awkward.  _I'm sure he's busy today._

"Absolutely," he said with a smile. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. His gray workout shirt implied that he had gone on his morning jog but hadn't showered yet. I noticed a calculating look in his eye. "I have something I want to run by you, actually."

Unsure what to do with my hands, I put one on my hip. "Really? What is it?"

"I'm leaving tonight for D.C. I have some work to do that will take at least a week." Steve said this with a slight frown on his lips.

"Oh," I said in a small voice, picturing a week without Steve. The thought of going back to work the day after next didn't sound so bad now. "Well, I hope you have a good trip." I forced a smile.

"See, that's what I wanted to ask you about. The flights to D.C. are pretty cheap, but … I mean−I know you have work next week." Steve sighed under his breath, and then locked his eyes on mine. "Let me start over. Would you like to visit me in D.C. next week?"

Surprise hit me like a sack of potatoes. "Me visit you? In D.C.?"  _Speak like a normal person, you idiot!_

"Your choice, of course. But I could buy your ticket for next to nothing," Steve added. His expression was hard to read, but he seemed eager.

"That sounds amazing," I admitted. "Are you sure?" It seemed too good to be true.

"I might be gone for a few hours on the days you're there, but I could still show you around D.C." Steve gave me a coy smile, and that was all I needed to seal the deal.

"I'm in," I said, beaming.

"Great," Steve said, opening his door wider. "Come in before the whole building hears." I slipped passed him with a laugh.

Steve sat me down with one of his notepads to figure out the days for the trip. It was a Friday; I worked Sunday through Tuesday of the next week, leaving the next four days off. So, we decided to get the plane ticket from Wednesday through Saturday.

"Looks good," Steve said, glancing over the dates. "Window or aisle seat?"

"Window," I said, feeling a bit spoiled. "You're going to ruin me for other men, you know." I threw him a playful glare.

"That's the idea," Steve said, giving me that heart wrenching wink. I gave a breathy laugh as he took the notepad into his bedroom.

Finally feeling the early morning getting to me, I leaned back into the fluffy pillows of Steve's couch. Having a smoothie for breakfast instead of coffee didn't seem to be healthy for me. I watched the old ceiling fan whirl around and around and around…

Waking with a jolt, I blinked at the room around me. Instead of my bed, I was sitting on Steve's couch. Recollection returned quickly, and I flushed when I realized I had fallen asleep. On the coffee table in front of me, there was a printed flight itinerary and a cup of coffee with just the right amount of cream. When I touched it, it was still warm.

My phone said it was almost 10:30 AM.

Deciding that Steve had left the coffee for me, I sipped it until I felt my grogginess subside.  _Steve sure makes some strong coffee._  As I became more aware of my surroundings, I heard that the shower in the bedroom was running. It was then that I realized I only had a few minutes (if that) to snoop in his room.

Hovering my ear close to the cracked door, I determined that the door to the bathroom was closed. Steve's floor plan was an exact mirror of mine, so that made things a bit easier. I began by pushing the door open just enough to look through, wincing at the soft creaks the hinge made. Sticking my head through, I took some guilty glances at Steve's bedroom.

The bed was made up with simple gray sheets. A book sat on the nightstand entitled  _The 90's in a Nutshell._ Like I had suspected, a corkboard hung on the wall with paper clippings pinned to it, some connected with red strings. One large newspaper headline read: "Bucky Barnes: A Legend and a Friend." A desktop computer sat on the desk in the corner. As I squinted at a bookshelf by the window, the shower suddenly shut off.

I quickly retreated to my perch on the couch, posing casually with my coffee in hand. Checking my phone, I saw a text notification from Jess. I dismissed it off the screen with a small frown. A few minutes later, Steve emerged from his room with a towel around his neck. Thankfully, he was fully clothed.

"Good morning," he said with a knowing smile. "I would have been worried if I didn't know your sleep schedule."

I cleared my throat in mock offense. "It's been a bit off lately, for some reason."

Steve toweled his hair dry as he walked into the kitchen. "That's probably my fault. I'm sorry," he said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. He wore a white T-shirt and khaki pants, looking like a runaway model.

"Don't apologize," I laughed, leaning over the armrest of the couch. "I can't remember the last time I was so happy."

A pleased smile appeared on his face. "That's good to hear."

I smiled back. "So, what is Captain America up to today?"

Steve let out a dry laugh. "Cap is on break at the moment. Steve Rogers wanted to take one last ride before heading back into the bureaucratic nightmare of D.C." He was opening a second water bottle as he said this.

I leaned forward with my chin resting on my hands. "Kate Easton would love to tag along."

The sun felt hotter that day than it had since the end of summer. As I put on the stuffy helmet, I was glad to be wearing a light T-shirt and jeans. Steve wore a T-shirt as well, and I swore he looked even broader without his leather jacket. When I got on the motorcycle behind him this time, I wasn't shy about putting my arms around his waist.

When Steve got on the freeway heading south, I realized I had no clue where we were going. That fact was exciting rather than worrying, because I was with Steve. While I clung to him on my second motorcycle ride ever, I reflected on the night before.

It was hard not to take his rejection as personal. I understood if he didn't want to hook up, and I didn't judge him for that. But I recalled him saying that he had hooked up with some women since waking up from the ice. I remembered he had used the term "short-lived relationships" instead of "flings." What was his definition of short-lived? Weeks? Months?  _Or does he just not see me in that way?_

We exited the freeway in lower Brooklyn−a not-so-great neighborhood. Ordinarily, it was a place that my friends and I actively avoided. We parked near Prospect Park, and I slid off the motorcycle with wobbly knees.

"Ever been here?" Steve asked after we pulled off our helmets. With one comb of his fingers, his hair was perfectly back in place.

"When I was a kid," I said, pulling strands of hair out of my mouth.

Steve pulled on a baseball cap while I straightened up my clothes. "I haven't been back in a long time," Steve admitted with a sigh.

The park was larger than I remembered it. There was a pond with bike trails all around it, which had a chunk of land in the center that they called Duck Island. As we walked by the water, I told Steve about the time a duck bit my hand while I was feeding it.

"When were you last here?" I asked with slight trepidation. I never knew how much to ask Steve about his life before the ice.

"I was last here as a late teen," Steve recalled. "They used to have mini fairs and events here. It was mostly for the kids to socialize and mingle."

"Did you ever bring a date here?" I asked, glancing at him sideways. His eyes were narrowed and distant.

"No," he said. "I mostly came here with other guys. My best friend always tried to be my wingman, but I was terrible with girls." Steve chuckled at the memory.

"Really?" I laughed. "It's hard to picture that."

Steve slowed his pace and cocked an eyebrow. "Have you seen what I looked like before the serum?" he asked, and I shyly admitted that I had. "That should explain everything."

I held back my laughter. "Okay, I guess I can see it now."

We were approaching an old gazebo that looked like it had been there for a while. Steve walked under it with his hands in his pockets, and I wondered if he was recalling memories he had made there. It was chilling to imagine him in the 1940's, not too much younger than he was now. When he turned so that I could see his face, a certain kind of sadness was there. I suddenly got an idea.

"Steve," I said, joining him under the gazebo. "Try to hit on me."

His face turned incredulous. "What?"

"This is your second chance to meet a girl at the fair," I explained. I put my hands behind my back and swayed sweetly from side to side, whispering, " _Just play along_."

A quizzical smile grew on Steve's face. "Alright," he said, and then he cleared his throat. He gave me a sexy look with one eyebrow raised. "How are you tonight, beautiful?" His voice had dropped down a pitch.

Trying for my most annoying New Yorker accent, I said, "Fine, thank ya very much."

Steve broke character with a smothered laugh, and then returned with his smoldering blue eyes. "You wanna get out of here, doll?" he asked. For a second, I forgot we were roleplaying and felt my heart skip a beat.

"Oh, c'mon. I'm not that easy," I teased, grinning from ear to ear.

Steve was smiling too. "But I just saw you kissing that guy over there," he said while narrowing his eyes. He gestured to a homeless person sleeping on the grass nearby.

Laughter exploded out of me, and I grabbed his arm to catch myself. Steve laughed too, more than ever, and I felt his hand rest on my shoulder as I leaned into him. The brief contact was wonderful. I pulled away before long, wiping tears from my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, smoothing the wrinkles I had made in his shirt. Steve's hand closed over mine, holding it between us.

"Don't apologize for making me laugh," Steve said with a twinkle in his eye.

We held hands as we made our way back to the motorcycle, which absolutely made my day. Steve explained he would be leaving soon so that he could get to the airport early. I felt preemptively lonely on the ride back to the apartment. Steve had filled the last few days of my life; I didn't know what I was going to do without him. I told him this as we walked up the steps to the apartment.

"I'm sure you'll find something better to do," Steve quipped as I pulled out my mail key. Jiggling the key in order to properly turn the lock, I looked up at him with a frown. "Maybe," he added with a wink.

"It's only four days, I guess," I said, paging through the stack of ads and bills. "I think I'll survive."

"I'm glad you agreed to the trip," Steve said as we made our way down the hall. "I was worried it was a little too … forward."

I gave him a weighted look as we stopped at our doors, facing each other. "You, Steve Rogers, could never be too forward," I stated.

"I don't know how you got that impression," he said, pursing his lips with a look of guilt.

I looked at his lips and recalled the night before. Suddenly feeling impulsive, I rose up on my tip toes and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. I moved my lips against his, feeling relieved when I felt his move back. He smelled like fresh air and leather. The kiss lasted a few seconds longer this time, and I felt his warm hands cradle my face. I settled back on my heels, looking up at him with a hopeful smile. His eyes were hooded and his lips were slightly parted.

Steve leaned down to place a small peck on my lips, as if to regain a sense of control. His hands moved down my neck, over my collarbones, and along my arms until he loosely grasped my hands. "See you soon, sweetheart," he murmured. He gave my hands a squeeze before letting go.

"See you, um, Wednesday," I said, savoring the sound of "sweetheart" on my ears. Steve nodded, and I watched him until his door closed with finality. I didn't realize my heart was pounding until I sucked in a breath of air.

I was beginning to think he was the perfect human being.


	7. Day 7

**Day 7**

To say Jess wasn't happy about being ignored for the past three days would have been an understatement. The night before, I had to practically beg her on the phone to have brunch with me that day. She finally agreed, on the condition that I had to give up all the details about my new relationship.

_Well, we'll see how that goes._

As I did my hair and makeup for brunch, I debated whether I should text Steve or not. I had texted him the evening before, asking how his flight had been. He hadn't texted back until later that night, saying that he had been at dinner. I didn't think I had the liberty to ask who he went to dinner with, and he didn't volunteer the information. However, the idea of a "D.C. girlfriend" had been bothering me ever since.

I decided not to text him; I didn't want to come across as too eager. Then again, wasn't it too late for that?

It had been about two weeks since I had last seen Jess. Jess was my childhood best friend who went through nursing school with me. Most of our friends from college had moved out of state, or across town, so she was still my closest friend. Her being night shift and me being day shift made it difficult to hang out, but we made it work.

As I walked up to our brunch place of choice, I saw Jess sitting out front with her naturally curly hair framing her head like a lion's mane. I picked up my pace when she saw me, a huge smile appearing on her face.

"You dyed your hair!" I exclaimed, hugging her tightly.

Jess squeezed me with an affectionate grunt. "If you checked Instagram more, you would know that," she teased.

Pulling away, I took in her blonde curls with a look of awe. "Well, you look amazing."

When we entered the restaurant, I was relieved to learn that Jess had called ahead. The place was packed from front to back with patrons. The host led us to our table in the back, where a server immediately put coffees in front of us. As I settled into my seat, I worried about the conversation ahead.

"So, what have you been up to?" I asked.

Jess fixed me with motherly eyes. "Nuh-uh," she said with a wag of her finger. " _You_  are going to tell  _me_  what  _you_  have been up to." She pointed at herself and me respectively.

"Well," I began with an irresistible smile on my face, "I think I'm dating someone."

"'Think'?"

"I mean−we haven't really put a label on it yet. It's only been, like, a week." I shrugged.

"What's his name?" Jess asked, stirring five packs of sugar and five creams into her coffee. I took the two creams that were left for myself, as per usual.

"Steve. Remember that supermodel neighbor I told you about?"

Jess' eyes lit up and she hit my arm with a friendly punch, saying, "Stop it." I rubbed the spot on my arm, smiling. "Let me see him!"

Pulling out my phone, I unlocked the screen and hovered my finger over the internet browser button.  _Wait−what am I doing?_ Glancing at Jess' eager face, I slowly put my phone down. "I just realized I don't have a picture of him yet."

"Oh, whatever." Jess shrugged. "Does he have social media?"

"I doubt it. He's pretty old-fashioned. And older," I added with a lift of my eyebrows. "Twenty-nine."

"Damn, girl," Jess drawled. "Is he tall?"

"So tall," I said, and I suddenly felt like a middle schooler describing her crush. "He works out, too. And drives a motorcycle."

"Wow, you're literally describing my dream guy." Jess leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "Hair? Eyes?"

"Blonde hair and blue eyes."

Jess let out a guttural groan, drawing glances from a family at a nearby booth. "Katlyn, you're killing me! What have you guys done?"

"Well," I started, thinking about which details I wanted to share, "we've been on five or six dates. He made me dinner at his apartment, we went out for coffee, we went to watch the sunrise, we went to a Broadway show, and then we went to the park." I held up five fingers for each date I counted.

"Kate, you're adorable." Jess smirked. "What have you guys done  _physically_?" she emphasized.

"Oh−right," I laughed. This was one of the parts I was worried about. "We've kissed…"

Jess waved her hand impatiently. "And?"

I let out a nervous laugh. "And that's it," I said anticlimactically, wanting to sink down into the floor.

"Okay, so, let me get this right." Jess folded her arms on top of the table. "This guy took you to a  _Broadway show_  and you didn't sleep with him?"

I immediately felt defensive. "That's exactly what I was thinking! He spent hundreds of dollars on me that night, and we didn't hook up."

Jess looked unimpressed. "So, are you leading him on, or what?"

When I realized the misunderstanding, I threw up a hand with an exasperated sigh. "Jess, no, I would have let him fuck me if he wanted to−"

Our server cleared his throat to interrupt our conversation, and said, "Are you ladies ready to order?"

Unfazed, Jess perked up with her menu in hand while I attempted to disappear behind mine. After the server left, we both laughed at the awkward moment. Throughout the years of hanging out with Jess, there were too many moments like that to count. "So, Steve is the one leading you on," she said, returning to the conversation.

"Not really," I replied, cocking my head to the side. "I feel like we're going at a good pace. Of course I want to sleep with him, but I think it'll be worth the wait."

Jess giggled into her coffee. "That's hot."

I couldn't help but smile. "He's hot. Honestly, he's way out of my league," I said with a sweep of my hand. "Like,  _way_."

"Girl," Jess injected, sitting up with her "pep talk" face on. "Don't undersell yourself. You're sweet and beautiful and talented. And you deserve a nice guy after what Jared did to you."

I winced a little at my ex's name. "Well, I don't know about that, but Steve is a really nice guy."

"God, I want to see this man. Can I meet him?" Jess asked.

"He's out of town right now." I paused. "Business trip."

"Oh, boo," Jess said, pouting. "I'm going to try to find him on social media." Taking her phone out of her pocket, Jess asked, "What's his last name?"

I froze up. "I−it's−" I pretended to be thinking about it. "Wilbertson, I think," I said under my breath.

Jess did a double take at me. "Wilbertson? Steve Wilbertson?"

I nodded soberly, hoping she wouldn't see through my lie.

Scoffing to herself, Jess typed away at her phone. "You sure he's the one?" she said sarcastically. I laughed, repeating the word in my head and wondering if it was even a real name.

As Jess searched all of her social media platforms, I checked my phone for texts.  _Nothing._

"Just a bunch of creepy old guys popping up," Jess said with a shudder. "Maybe he has private accounts. You should ask him."

"I will, when he gets back." I desperately wanted to change the subject. "How has work been? I go back tomorrow," I said with a frown.

Jess went on to talk about this patient and that doctor, and all the interpersonal drama that went on at her hospital. Though I was sad that we got hired at different hospitals, I would take mine over hers any day. The way they treated their nurses just wasn't right. My managers actually cared when we were drowning, and tried to help as much as they could.

I told Jess about Allie May passing away and everything that had happened the last time I was at work. Talking about it put me in a very weird mood. Jess was supportive, as she always was. She said "You did everything you could," like she always did. It still left me feeling uneasy about going back to work … like losing a patient always did.

After brunch and an extra round of pancakes, Jess and I decided to walk to a nearby mall. Our conversation inevitably led back to Steve, and she hit me with another barrage of questions. Was he a good kisser? What was his sign? Did he have abs? What did he do for a living?

"This Steve sounds too perfect to be real," Jess had decided in the end. "You need to find out what his flaws are. Everybody's got them."

Jess was right. I didn't know any of Steve's flaws, but I figured that the four day trip to D.C. would shine some light on them.

That evening, while I was getting ready for work the next day, Steve finally texted me. I lunged for my phone like a lion attacking its prey. I quickly read the message on the screen.

_Sorry I didn't text you, Kate. Was in meetings all day. How was your day?_

All my pent up thoughts were itching to burst through my fingers as I typed out my response. I deleted a few things and added some things, and this was the end product:

_**It's okay Steve :) I had a pretty good day with my friend Jess. We talked about you a ton ;) getting ready for work atm** _

Setting my phone on the island, I went back to the kitchen to finish packing my lunch. Getting ready for work was a ritual for me−everything had to be in order before I could even think about going to sleep. It was already 9:30 PM and I was behind schedule.

To my surprise, Steve texted back fairly quickly.

_All good things, I hope. Is Jess trustworthy? What is "atm"?_

Reading over the text twice, I decided that a grandpa could have sent it. Steve's texts were so grammatically correct, none of his personality showed through them. I texted back immediately.

_**Atm is "at the moment" lol. What are you doing atm? ;) Jess is trustworthy but I didn't tell her that you are you-know-who** _

_Thank you for that. Don't like too many people knowing where I live. Atm, I am relaxing at my apartment. Wish I had some company._

For a moment, I got the urge to call him. I set my phone aside to consider it while I cut some apple slices. Was it too early in our relationship to start talking on the phone? Were we in a "relationship"? I realized there was a lot of clearing up to do during the trip.

When I picked up my phone, there was a second text from Steve waiting for me. It said:

_(That means you.)_

Butterflies swirling, I texted back.

_**I would do anything to skip work and come drink chamomile tea with you** _

After putting my packed lunch box in the fridge, I shifted towards setting out my uniform. Every thirty seconds or so, I glanced over at my phone to make sure I hadn't missed anything. After my scrubs were in order, I went to brush my teeth.

Watching my tired eyes in the bathroom mirror, I remembered the night of Allie May's death.  _What a terrible shift._ Mostly, I remembered Steve's gentle and calming presence when he found me locked out of my own apartment. I recalled when he invited me to stay over and when he made me tea. He didn't ask why or try to pry into my life; he just supported me and showed that he cared if I lived or died. Well, more like if I slept in a bed or on the laundry room floor.

Steve finally texted me back in the middle of my nightly flossing.

_I'll put the kettle on, sweetheart._

At that, my heart just about exploded out of my chest. Stumbling into my bedroom, I collapsed on my bed with a hand on my pounding chest. As I stared at the ceiling, I came to the stark realization that I was in love with Steve Rogers.


	8. Day 11

**Day 11**

Thankfully, my three days of work flew by. I settled into a predictable routine of get up, go to work, avoid talking about my personal life with coworkers, come home, text with Steve, go to sleep, and repeat. By the time Tuesday night came, I was doing loads of laundry in a rush to pack for my flight that next day.

The flight takeoff time said 11 AM, but, knowing JFK, I decided to call a cab at 7 AM. As I stood in line at airport security, I knew I had made the right decision. I got to my gate about twenty minutes before my flight started boarding. When I picked up my phone to text Steve my progress, I found that he had already texted me.

_Can't wait to see you. Have a safe flight._

I sent my reply with a huge grin on my face.

After we boarded, I held my earbuds at the ready for when my neighbor sat down. I didn't mind meeting new people on planes, but I was (and still am) terrible at small talk. An elderly gentleman wearing sunglasses soon claimed the seat.

"Hi, I'm Kate," I said with a smile, offering a hand.

The gentleman briefly shook my hand. "Stan," he said, holding up some earbuds of his own. "If you don't mind, I have a new audiobook to listen to."

"Oh, not at all," I muttered. I gratefully put in my earbuds for a wonderful hour of empowering pop hits.

I decided to call Steve when I landed in D.C. The airport was unfamiliar to me, and more importantly, I didn't know where he lived. When I took my phone out of airplane mode, some texts from Steve came through.

_Last minute meeting came up. Will try to get out of it. If I don't, please take a cab to my address: 530 W Yorkshire St, Apt #1509._

_Couldn't get out of it. I am so sorry. Will be back around dinner time. Please make yourself at home._

Biting the inside of my lip, I looked for signs leading to the taxi area. I don't know what I had expected to find when I landed in D.C., but it wasn't this. After flagging down a cab, I muttered Steve's address to the driver and sat back to glower.

Steve's apartment complex was clearly much nicer than the one in Brooklyn. It had manicured landscaping, a pool, a gym, and an overall newer feel to it. As I pressed the button for the elevator in building one, I wondered if I could even afford a place like this in Brooklyn.

Standing in front of apartment #1509, I realized that I didn't have a key.  _Steve must have left it somewhe_ re. Spotting a white envelope shoved mostly under the door, I opened it to find the key. I felt a jolt of excitement as I unlocked the door.

The apartment smelled like apples and new paint. The decor there was much more retro than Steve's apartment in Brooklyn−there were antiques almost everywhere you looked. The kitchen was all stainless steel, and the furniture didn't look like it was picked up from the side of the road. A clock ticking away on the wall said it was 1 PM.

After setting down my purse and carry-on, I gave myself a little tour of the place. It was very similar to his other apartment, though his bedroom was missing the mysterious corkboard. The bathroom in the hallway was as clean as an operating room. I noticed a small tube of roll-on cologne in the scent "Leather Clad."  _Is that how he does it?_

Grabbing a banana from the pantry, I settled down in the living room with a book I found in his bedroom called  _Area 51_   _and Thor: What's the Deal?_ I quickly got bored and switched to watching YouTube videos.

Around 5 PM, I received a text from Steve saying he would be home soon. I paced nervously with a sudden burst of unwanted energy. Walking into the kitchen, I opened the pantry door. A moment of inspiration struck when I saw a box of pasta and some garlic cloves sitting on a shelf.

While sauteing some mushrooms, I heard a key unlocking the door. My heart rate took off at a wild pace, and I looked over my shoulder to see Steve entering the apartment. He had a confused look on his face when he saw me, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Welcome home," I said with a huge grin.

"Kate, what are you doing?" he asked, setting a metal briefcase on the couch.

I laughed, turning back to my mushrooms. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm sauteing mushrooms."

Steve appeared at my side and plucked the spatula out of my hand, saying, "Not in my house, you're not." I lingered close to him as he took over, using the unstirred spaghetti as my excuse. "How was your flight?" Steve asked.

Realizing how warm I was from the stove, I rolled up my sleeves. I felt jittery from nerves. "It was fine. How was your meeting?"

"Thrilling," Steve said dryly, turning his gaze on me. How I had missed those blue eyes of his. "I'm really sorry, Kate," he said sincerely.

I dismissed the apology with a wave of my hand as I carefully stirred the pot of spaghetti. "Don't worry about it, Steve. I managed."

There was a pause. "I'll make it up to you somehow," he said. I felt the weight of his gaze still and looked over to find him staring. "Gosh, you look beautiful."

I felt my cheeks go even redder than they already were. "Thank you," I muttered, looking back at the pasta. "I can't believe I'm here," I said to change the subject.

"Me neither," Steve said, breaking away to open the fridge. "Were we thinking marinara or alfredo?"

"Alfredo, if you have it," I said, testing a string of pasta. It was just right. "So, what exactly are these meetings about?"

Steve was quiet for a few moments as he set the jar of alfredo sauce by the stove. "I'm not sure I can say," he admitted with a laugh.

I poured the spaghetti into a strainer and returned the pot to the stove. "Just give me the general idea," I told him, giving him a heavy glance. "Without going into specifics."

"Well," Steve said, straining the pasta with a few shakes over the sink, "the organization I work with is testing some new … equipment. They need my help to make sure it works properly."

I nodded while I worked at opening the alfredo sauce. "What kind of equipment?"

"Let's just say it's part of a contingency plan. For example, if I went rouge one day−" Steve laughed when he saw me struggling with the lid. "May I?" he asked, holding out a hand.

"Yeah," I muttered, handing it over. "But it's definitely loose."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Steve said with a smirk on his face. He popped the lid off as though he were ripping a piece of paper−or in his case, a phonebook. I nearly rolled my eyes as I took the jar.

"So, contingency plans," I said, going back to our conversation. "Exciting."

"Not really," Steve sighed. "I'm sure your days at work are more exciting than mine."

I let the words "contingency" and "rouge" turn over in my mind a few times. "Wait," I said, turning back to him with a spark of concern. "Do you mean you're helping them find out how to take you down?"

Steve's lips formed a line as though he wished he could take the words back. "Listen," Steve said, putting a hand in my shoulder like he was giving parental advice. "There are certain things about my job that I can't talk about."

I swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "You don't have a normal job. I understand." He didn't let me go until I had forced a smile.

"Good." Steve smiled back. "Let's eat."

The last time I had dinner in Steve's apartment, I found out he was Captain America. This time, I found out he'd never tried sushi. Steve was becoming less if a fairy tale and more of a real human to me. That wasn't to say I felt differently about him; I just felt more comfortable. I could tell he was becoming more comfortable around me as well.

After cleaning up, we both dived into the tiramisu that I had been eyeballing for hours. I couldn't help but remember that I had pointed out a piece of tiramisu during our date at the coffee shop. During a lull in conversation, I was stuck with an idea.

"We should play 'truth or dare,'" I said, giving Steve a devilish smile over my wine glass.

"You mean 'truth or consequences'?" Steve quipped with a raised eyebrow.

I took another bite of tiramisu, lifting my hand to cover my mouth when I spoke. "Whatever gets me to all your secrets." I laughed at Steve's surprised face.

"You should know by now that I'm an open book." When I lifted my eyebrows, Steve added, "On most things."

"You're right," I said, picking up my glass of wine. "There's just a lot I still don't know about you."

"I could say the same about you," Steve said while leaning back in his chair. "So, truth or dare?"

"Truth," I said with a grin.

"What is the main quality you look for in a partner?" Steve asked.

It was hard to maintain eye contact with Steve while he was so serious, but I managed to do it. "Honesty," I said, "of course." A half smile appeared on Steve's face. "Truth or dare?" I asked.

"Truth."

The first question that popped into my head made me laugh, and he gave me a quizzical look. I decided to save that one for later. "When was the last time you went on a date before we started going out?"

Steve put a hand to his chin as he thought about his answer. "At least six months," he said. "Truth?" When I nodded, he asked, "When you found out I was Captain America, did that change your opinion of me?"

Steve's questions surprised me a bit−he seemed to be curious about what I thought of him. "Not very much," I admitted. "It raised a lot of new questions, but it didn't change what I thought of you as a person. You were still 'Steve.'"

Seeming pleased, Steve said, "I'm glad to hear it."

"Truth or dare?" I asked, resting my chin in my hands.

"I'll take a dare," he said with a smirk.  _Oh, how he underestimates me._  The idea came to me faster than a speeding bullet.

I pointed to the metal briefcase on the couch. "If that has your Captain America uniform in it, you have to put it on for me." I flashed a smile while Steve cracked a nervous laugh.

Standing to get the briefcase, Steve asked, "And if it doesn't?"

By the look on his face, I already knew that the suit was in there. I watched with a satisfied grin as he unlocked the latches and lifted the top. "Yes!" I exclaimed, pumping my fist in victory.

"Alright," Steve said, putting out a hand as if to calm me down. He was fighting a smile as I giggled into my hands. "But just to warn you, it takes me about ten minutes to put this thing on."

"The night is young!" I said, lifting my wine glass as if to toast the occasion.

To say I was excited to see Steve as Captain America would be an understatement. I sipped my wine as I waited and tried to ignore my heartbeat thudding in my ears. When his bedroom door finally opened, I felt my stomach twist into knots.

Steve stepped out with a hint of redness in his cheeks. Whether it was a result of getting into the uniform or embarrassment, I will never know. "I'm  _not_ putting the cowl on," he said, standing with his hands on his hips.

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. His suit was much darker than the pictures I had seen on the internet; it was entirely dark blue with silver accents. Carefully stepping towards him, I placed my hand on his arm to feel the thick, yet soft, material of his uniform. Moving up over his shoulder, I splayed my fingers across his chest to touch the metal star in the center. I couldn't ignore the feeling of his toned pectorals underneath.

"Do you approve?" he asked. Any whisper of embarrassment was gone from his face, firmly replaced by a smirk.

Dragging my eyes up from his chest, I looked at his smug face. He was so much taller wearing those boots. "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. My eyes automatically flickered down to his inviting lips.

"Good," he said softly, as if for my ears only. I felt my cheeks flush when I realized we were staring at each other. "Okay, your turn," he teased.

I laughed, turning away with my heart racing. "Believe it or not, I'm not a superhero." I patted the seat next me while I sat on the couch, and to my pleasure Steve sat down. He looked perfectly comfortable in his uniform, and I was perfectly comfortable with him staying in it.

"Oh, I've seen you in uniform," Steve said, shooting me a glance while he took off his leather gloves.

I cleared my throat to change the subject, swirling my wine. "Who's turn is it?"

"Yours. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," I said.

He thought for a moment. "Tell me about your first kiss," he said. His face was a picture of sweet innocence.

"My first kiss," I laughed, pulling up my legs to sit on them. "That would have been ninth grade, at my friend's house. Her brother had a crush on me and−well, you know−" Shaking my head, I laughed at the awkward memory. "It wasn't special. It was very wet."

Steve was grimacing as he stared at some point on the floor. "Not going to lie−that sounds terrible."

"It was … When was your first kiss?" I asked, tilting my head to catch his eye. When I noticed his tentative expression, I added, "I know things were a lot different back then."

"They were," he agreed, straightening a bit. "Society has changed in many ways. Physical contact with the opposite sex being one of them." It was times like these that Steve reminded me slightly of my father. "I'm sure I could have dated younger, but I was too focused on paying bills and, well, trying to enlist in the Army."

"So, your first kiss was your first girlfriend?" I guessed, unconsciously leaning forward.

Steve cracked a nostalgic smile. "Not quite. Although, she did  _see_ my first kiss. It made her jealous, I think."

My mouth fell open. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope," Steve laughed. "Some female volunteer with the Army walked up to me one day and just"−he shrugged−"started kissing me. She said something about 'on behalf of the women of America' or something like that." There was a glint in his eye as he recalled the memory. "That's when Peggy saw us."

"Wow," I breathed. "This is post-serum, right?"

"Right."

_That would put him in his 20's._ I made a mental note to find out who "Peggy" was later. "Maybe that helped her realize how special you were," I said in a teasing way.

"Or how immature I was," Steve practically mumbled, smoothing what looked like a tear on his pants. Upon closer inspection, it was a gaping hole in the top layer with charred material around it. I glanced away, pretending like I hadn't seen it.

"It's my turn," I said, "and I know you're going to pick truth." As he rolled his eyes, I decided to ask the question I had saved for later. "When was the last time you were … intimate with someone?"

Steve's eyes dropped to the floor, and I instantly felt some regret for asking such a personal question. Another part of me said:  _Steve is an adult, he can take it._ When Steve looked back up at me, his eyes seemed more intensely blue than usual. "It's been a very, very long time," he said softly.

A chill crept through my spine.  _Does he mean since the 1940's?_ So those "short-lived relationships" weren't exactly what I had imagined them to be. Doing some math in my head, I calculated it had been about a year and a half since Steve woke up from the ice. "Oh," was all I managed to say.

Steve's expression turned a bit cynical. "Surprised?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, trying to find the right words. "To be honest, yeah. I mean, you're−" I gestured to him without speaking.

Steve laughed−a good sign that I hadn't permanently offended him. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said.

"No, I mean−you're  _sexy_ , Steve," I finally finished. "You are  _so_ sexy."  _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

"Thank you," Steve said, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes fell again; he watched me fiddle with the corner of my T-shirt. It was a nervous habit. "Intimacy is something I think should exist within the confines of a relationship. Which are hard to come by in the 21st century," he explained.

"I know what you mean," I said below a whisper, watching the loneliness in his eyes. His eyebrows were drawn together. Unsure if my words had been audible, I repeated, "I know what you mean." When he looked up at me, I realized just how close his face was.

And then we were kissing. I wasn't sure who initiated it, but I knew it wasn't going to be a peck this time. Grabbing the back of his neck, I rose up on my knees to be level with him. I felt his hands close around my waist, squeezing slightly. Our mouths moved together until I parted my lips, taking his bottom lip between mine. He responded by opening his lips as well, sucking in my lip with a bit of teeth that caused me to gasp. I pulled my body closer to his, realizing that his uniform was much thicker than it should have been. When Steve tried to pull me closer, I broke the kiss to straddle his lap.

I immediately realized that breaking the kiss was a mistake. Steve looked at me with conflict in his eyes, causing me to unwind my fingers from his hair. "Baby, it's okay," I murmured, nodding my head.

Steve placed a hand on the back of my head, moving to press our foreheads together. I closed my eyes. "I want to take it slow with you, Kate," he whispered.

"We are taking it slow," I said, digging my fingers back into his hair. I felt a sudden burst of affection for this wonderful, respectful man. "I want to go at your pace, Steve."

Then, Steve lifted me out of his lap like I weighed five pounds. I sat there on the couch, staring at my lap, feeling like a scholded teenager. Needing to touch some part of him, I took his hands into mine. He was silent.

_I ruin everything._

I squeezed my eyes shut when I felt the sting of tears. "I'm an idiot," I said thickly.

"No, you're not," Steve laughed, giving my hands a squeeze. "I'm old-fashioned."

When I felt confident I wouldn't burst into tears, I looked up at him. Steve's expression was concerned but also consoling. "Can we pretend like that didn't happen and just watch a movie?" I asked hopefully.

A small smile appeared on Steve's face. "Sure," he said. "But I'm going to have to change out of this suit first."


	9. Day 12

**Day 12**

I woke up that morning feeling very confused. First of all, I wasn't in my own bed−I was in Steve's bed. Second, Steve wasn't in his bed with me. Third, I was pretty sure I smelled French toast.

Sitting up, I found a shaft of light streaming through curtains that were slightly open. The clock on the wall read 7:30 AM. My purse and carry-on bag were sitting by the dresser. A spike of fear shot through me, and I looked down to find I was in the same clothes as yesterday. Running a hand over my face, I tried to recall everything that happened the night before.

Steve and I had made out, and it had been awkward. We then decided to put on a movie and argued about the genre for a solid ten minutes. Then, we settled on  _Happy Gilmore_ because no human should live out their lives without seeing the film. After that, I couldn't quite connect how I got from the couch into Steve's bed.  _Must be the wine…_

Once I had changed my clothes, I realized that the only bathroom in the apartment was out in the hallway. A quick check in my phone's camera told me that my makeup was smeared elegantly all over my face. I bit my lip when I realized I would have to make an awkward dash into the bathroom. Thankfully, the door to the bathroom was not visible from the kitchen, where I suspected Steve to be. I beelined it and quickly freshened myself up.

When I came out of the bathroom, the smell of cinnamon was stronger than ever. I peeked around the corner to find Steve sitting at the dining room table. He was reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee in hand. As I padded quietly across the carpet, I couldn't help but notice the blanket and pillow on the couch.

"Good morning," I rasped out, finding my throat very dry.

Steve's head jerked towards me as though I had startled him. "Good morning," he replied briskly. "I didn't expect to see you up so early."

I shrugged. "I'm here to see you, not the back of my eyelids."

A half smile made its way onto Steve's lips. "Well, I hope you like French toast."

As Steve divided his breakfast plate in half, I poured myself a cup of coffee. Sunlight streamed through the open windows in the apartment, which filled the place with the smell of fresh-cut grass. The sunlight that fell on Steve changed the color of his hair from blonde to a glowing golden. A peaceful and contented feeling settled over me as I took a seat across from him.

"I love your apartment," I said, adding a small "Thank you" when he set my plate in front of me.

"Me, too," he said, going back to his coffee. "My employers set all of this up for me. I don't think I could've managed all this myself."

Surprised by the new information, I glanced around at all the antiques and fancy pieces of furniture. I realized that some of them might not be Steve's personal style. "I see."

"After New York−" Steve stopped himself short, stealing a glance at my face. "Well, this was my first apartment after everything settled down."

I nodded, noticing his caution when bringing up the 2012 attacks. I decided not to dwell on it. "Very nice of them," I commented. "So the place in Brooklyn…?"

"That was all me," Steve admitted with an embarrassed smile. "I wanted a place in Brooklyn, but I also had a budget to work with."

"Sounds familiar," I said with a knowing smile. "My lease is almost up there. I'm not sure if I'm going to resign, or maybe get a roommate in a better part of town."

Steve's expression was guarded. "When is your lease up?" he asked.

"Two months," I said, savoring the meltaway texture of my French toast. I leaned my chin on my hand while I studied Steve's sunlit face. "Of course, there's more to think about than money in New York."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve smirked at me over his coffee. "Like having the right neighbors?"

I smiled, very pleased that he caught my drift. " _Exactly_ ," I laughed behind my napkin. The knowing look in his eyes suddenly reminded me of last night. "By the way," I said, "what happened last night?"

Worry ghosted across Steve's face as he replied. "Sorry about that. You fell asleep during the movie, and I couldn't get you to wake up."

I almost choked on my coffee. "I wouldn't wake up?"

Steve laughed lightly. "I mean, I didn't start shaking you or anything. I just said your name a few times. Then, I carried you into the room."

Picturing the scene in my head, I couldn't help but laugh. "And you slept on the couch?" I asked. Steve nodded with a quizzical expression on his face. I shook my head at him in awe. "You are the ultimate gentleman. Do you know that?"

"Oh, yes," Steve said, taking our empty mugs to the coffee pot, "I am painfully aware."

Since Steve had to go into work that evening, we decided to walk down by the monuments in the morning. I hadn't been to the National Mall since I was very young. After helping clean up our breakfast, I excused myself to take a shower.

After doing my hair and makeup in record time, I straightened out my clothes in the bathroom mirror. I didn't quite like the look of my blue cardigan with my dark blue shirt, so I stealthily returned to the room to grab my beige one. As I slipped through the open door, my eyes came to rest on Steve Rogers wearing only his boxers. He was holding a light blue shirt, which he quickly slipped over his head. "Oh!" I exclaimed, putting up a hand to block my view as I backed out of the room. "Sorry!" I pulled the door shut as I left.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I stood numbly in the hallway.  _Did that seriously just happen?_ Mental pictures of Steve's pecs, abs, V-line, and−well, other places−flashed through my mind. I also recalled some nasty bruises on Steve's skin, particularly on his torso and legs. Before I could think of anything else, the bedroom door was opened by a fully clothed Steve.

When I opened my mouth to apologize profusely, he held up a hand. "Don't apologize," he said with a hint of smugness. "I shouldn't have left the door open."

"Still," I interjected, "I'm sorry." I felt terrible.

Steve crossed the room to grab his keys and wallet. "Now, that will be five dollars," he joked over his shoulder. Rolling my eyes, I marched into the bedroom to change.

The metro ride to the Mall was surprisingly short. Steve told me that he even jogged down to the monuments most mornings. I agreed that we should do the run one of the mornings I was in town.  _Of course, I would probably just slow him down…_

As we stepped off the metro, I grabbed his hand to keep up with him in the crowd. He held my hand without complaint, and continued to do so during most of the morning. I walked close to him as we toured around the Mall, stopping at memorials to reminisce. The air was chilly but the sun was warm. It was a perfect day.

Somehow, I managed to talk Steve into getting lunch at an upscale sushi place on Pennsylvania Avenue. We were comically underdressed, especially with Steve's mandatory ball cap, but we enjoyed ourselves anyway. Steve ended up liking sushi, as long as no raw fish was involved. While we were there, Steve got called into work earlier than he anticipated. We decided to save the Smithsonian for another day.

"I'm sorry," Steve had said with a regretful look. "When they say 'jump,' I say 'how high.'"

I had waved it off. "Work comes first. I understand."

I took the metro back to the apartment while Steve took it to work. Walking through the now familiar apartment complex, I let myself into the apartment before any neighbors could see me.

Feeling lonely, I laid on the couch and wrapped myself in Steve's blanket. It smelled like him and his laundry detergent. I sent some texts to Jess to update her on the trip, and then I felt a nap coming on. About thirty minutes later, as I was drifting to sleep, I heard some brusque knocks at the door.

Stumbling towards the door, I looked through the peephole. It wasn't Steve−it was a woman wearing all black with fiery red hair. Her arms were crossed and her posture was stiff.  _Who the hell is this?_  As I debated whether to answer the door or not, she knocked again, more insistent this time. Heart racing, I turned away from the door to retreat back into the apartment.

A moment later, I heard some metallic clicks coming from the doorknob. Rushing back to the door, I looked through to see the woman standing very close with her hands working at the lock.  _She's trying to pick the lock!_

Flinging the door open, I found myself face-to-face with a severe looking woman whose eyes were the color of a stormy sky. "What are you doing?" I demanded, keeping my distance and ready to slam the door.

She easily concealed her shock. "Who are you? And where is Rogers?" Her posture was aggressive.

"I'm Kate. How do you know Steve?" I asked.

Her brow became less furrowed when she realized that I knew Steve. "I could ask you the same thing, Kate," she stated evenly.

"He's my neighbor, in Brooklyn. We're−" I paused ever so slightly, prompting a raised eyebrow, "−talking." I relaxed my grip on the door. "How do you know him?"

"He's a friend." She pursed her lips while maintaining fierce eye contact with me. "I came by to give him something, but I'll just come back later."

"He'll be back soon," I said, opening the door wider. "Would you like to wait for him?"

"No," she said, glancing passed me into the dark apartment. "Just let him know that Natasha stopped by."

I nodded, silently relieved. "I will. It's nice to meet you, Natasha," I added, holding out a hopeful hand. She took it for an extremely brief shake.

"Enjoy your visit, Kate," she said icily. I couldn't help but glance after her as she left. She had the build and face of a supermodel. Who was she?

_The D.C. girlfriend._

I made sure to lock the door before making a sprint for my phone. Opening the internet browser, I typed "natasha the avengers crime fighters" into the search bar. Images of The Avengers appeared, and I tapped on the Wikipedia article for the group. It listed the members at the top of the page.

" _Ironman," a.k.a. Tony Stark_

" _Captain America," a.k.a. Steven Rogers_

" _Thor," a.k.a. Unknown [see below]_

" _Hulk," a.k.a. Bruce Banner_

" _Black Widow," a.k.a. Natasha Romanoff_

" _Hawkeye," a.k.a. Clint Barton_

I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, biting my lip hard. I repeated the name in my mind− _Natasha Romanoff_. I had definitely heard that name on the news back in 2012. She was a superheroine. She was also Steve's "friend." I almost laughed when I started comparing myself to her, blinking away the sting of tears.

Over the next few hours, I spent my time delving into my worst fear. I Googled various images and articles of Steve and Natasha together. Most of the images were from New York, but I braved through them. I needed to know everything about her. Unfortunately, there wasn't much solid information to be found on the internet. The tabloids, however, speculated incessantly.

When Steve arrived, I welcomed him home from the table with a forced smile. I could tell by his expression that he sensed something was wrong; his brow was furrowed. He took off his jacket slowly. "What's going on?" he asked.

Before I could say a word, I felt the warning prick of tears at my eyes. I blinked rapidly and put on a fake smile. "Natasha stopped by," I hedged.

As he crossed the room, Steve's confused expression transformed to understanding. "You met Natasha." It was a statement rather than a question.

I nodded. "She said she wanted to give you something in person."

I could tell Steve was suddenly uncomfortable. "The brief files from yesterday … I'm sorry she took you off guard." Steve was studying my face carefully. I knew my brave facade was failing.

"Steve," I croaked, the tears coming hot and fast. "I think we need to talk−" I swallowed thickly. "About us."

Steve was immediately at my side, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands. When I ripped my hands away to hide my face, he pulled me into a tight embrace. I held my breath to prevent myself from sobbing. "Sweetheart," Steve murmured in my ear, "what's wrong?"

I let a few tears soak into his shirt before I tried to speak. My hands were trapped in between us, balled into fists. "What are we?" I mumbled.

"What do you mean?" he asked, clearly confused.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. "What am I to you?" I asked. My voice was evening out.

"You're, well, you're my girlfriend, Kate. What else would you be?" Steve asked. Hearing him call me his "girlfriend" for the first time made my heart flutter.

"A side girl in Brooklyn?" I spat, hearing myself laugh bitterly.

Pulling back, Steve looked at me with a desperate expression. " _Side girl?_ " he said incredulously. "You're my only girl, Kate. There's absolutely nothing going on between Nat and I."

 _Not anymore,_  I corrected in my mind. "What is she to you?" I asked, sniffling away the last of my tears.

"She's a … coworker."

I gave him a questioning look. "Was she one of your 'short-lived relationships'?"

Steve broke eye contact with me momentarily while he answered. "Yes, she was. We quickly found out we were incompatible."

Mostly convinced, I went on to ask, "So that first night you were in D.C., you didn't have dinner with her?"

Shock crossed over Steve's face as though he was surprised I would even bring that up. "No," he breathed. "I went to dinner with my boss that night."

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I nervously wiped at the wet spot I had made on his T-shirt. My drying tears felt sticky on my cheeks. Still kneeling between my legs, Steve put a finger under my chin to lift my gaze.

"Kate, do you not trust me?" Steve asked. His expression was tortured and raw.

I shrugged unconsciously. "I don't know, Steve." I shook my head when I heard the words out loud. "I don't mean it like that. You're just−" I waved an exacerbated hand. "You're way out of my league."

A frown appeared on Steve's face. "Whether that's true or not, it doesn't change anything. As far as I am concerned, we are dating." His voice was steady and sure.

Letting out a relieved breath, I said, "Maybe I just needed to hear you say it." I wiped my sleeve across my face. "I'm sorry I cried."

Steve's hands tightened at my waist. "I'm sorry I made you cry," he murmured. He leaned forward to place a butterfly kiss on my lips. "You can trust me, Kate. Always."

Feeling silly for doubting him, I nodded with a small smile on my face. "I trust you," I said.

"Good," he said, standing to his feet. He pulled me up as well, holding my hands loosely between us. "You deserve a nice dinner."

Laughing, I said, "I deserve a slap on the wrist."

"Nonsense," he said. Steve then cradled my face in his hands and kissed me. It was a sweet kiss−not as intense as the night before. It was a reassuring kiss. It was a kiss that said "Everything is going to be alright." After he pulled back, I rested my head on his chest, slipping my arms around his waist. His arms held me in a healing embrace.

"What do you feel like eating?" I asked after a minute, feeling mostly back to normal.  _That was the shortest argument in the history of arguments._

"I need a steak after that fish earlier," Steve admitted.

I laughed. "Fair enough."

Neither of us made a move to break apart. I closed my eyes and allowed the moment to stretch on, feeling like I was in the best place on Earth.


	10. Day 13

**Day 13**

Steve slept on the couch again, even though I had insisted that he at least sleep in his own bed. I had even implied that I would be fine with sharing the bed, but he respectfully declined. The sexual tension between us was becoming palpable … or at least that's how  _I_  felt.

At breakfast, Steve happily announced that his employers were giving him a day off. "I guess they decided I needed a rest," he explained.

"Good," I said. It was difficult to imagine just what kind of work they had him doing. "I get you all to myself today," I added with a coy smile.

Steve laughed with a hint of embarrassment. In true Steve fashion, he countered with a self-deprecating joke. "All the good, the bad, and the ugly."

The metro ride to the Smithsonian was much less crowded than the day before. The thought of leaving the next day lingered in the back of my mind, turning the ride bittersweet. I smiled bravely at Steve when he gave my hand a random squeeze. As we walked from the metro station to the museums, I decided to bring it up.

"So, it's your last night," Steve said, as if reading my mind.

I let out a breathy laugh. "I was literally about to say that," I sighed, giving him a long glance. A small patch of blonde bangs stuck out from underneath his baseball cap, and his eyes were as blue as ever in the late morning sunlight.

"You seemed a little off on the train," he noted, wearing a small smile.

"You're right," I breathed. "I'm not ready to go home."

Steve laughed lightly. "Don't you miss New York? Your job?"

"Nope," I said, popping the "p." I laughed outright at the thought of missing my boring life and stressful job. "It's nice to get away."

As he stared at the sidewalk ahead, Steve's eyes seemed pensive. "Well," he said, "my door is always open."

The statement gave me pause. "You don't think you'll be in D.C. that much, do you?"

He shrugged, shooting me a hapless glance. "You never know. The folks I work for can be … demanding."

Thinking back to the bruises I had seen on his body, I couldn't help but agree. I considered asking him about his work, but it didn't seem like the right time. "Well, that gives me an excuse to get away from NYC," I said with a smile.

"My thoughts exactly," Steve agreed.

We decided to go to the Museum of American History and the National Gallery since we didn't want to stay out all day. Or rather, I didn't want to stay out all day. Steve seemed excited to spend time around old things. Since I had never been to the Smithsonian or to many museums in general, I was certainly curious.

The American museum was cold and musty, which reminded me of an antique book shop I visited as a child. I was grateful that I had brought a sweater. After buying our admission tickets, Steve offered me an arm and we started to meander through the museum.

When we got to the pop culture section, I was ecstatic. The Golden Age of Hollywood surrounded us with music and antiques everywhere we looked. It was like stepping into a time machine. Once we got to the 70's and 80's, the magic died down for me. Steve laughed and pointed out the change in my demeanor. Every so often, he would jot down names of people or movies that caught his attention.

After pop culture, we reached the war section of the museum. Steve became noticeably more quiet as we walked through the Revolutionary War and the Civil War exhibits. We stopped at plaques occasionally to read about this battle or that general. Then came World War I. And then World War II. By then, Steve was totally silent.

Around one particular corner, a big band song drifted through the musty air. As we got closer, I recognized a familiar silhouette and shield painted on the wall. It read, "Captain America: The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage."

My feet came to a surprised halt. I stared at the wall until I realized that we were blocking the flow of people behind us. "Sorry," I muttered to a family as I trailed behind Steve into the exhibit. "Have you been here before?" I whispered to Steve, taking in the extensive view.

"I have," Steve said. I looked up to study his face. What I had assumed to be sadness actually seemed to be quiet amusement. He pulled the brim of his hat down a bit with a small smirk in place.

We first came to a display of pre-serum and post-serum Steve. I had seen pictures on the internet, but they did not do justice to the height difference. I wondered if I would have even given pre-serum Steve a second glance. Next, we reached a 1940's motorcycle. Steve laughed when he told me that the museum had actually refused to give it back to him. The same went for the vintage Captain America uniform on display with his old Army unit, the Howling Commandos.

A glass plaque with the words "A Fallen Comrade" drew my attention. I briefly read about James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. By the time I reached the end, I realized it was the same name that I had seen on Steve's mysterious corkboard in Brooklyn. The neighboring plaque was titled "A Faithful Colleague," which briefly summarized the role of Margaret "Peggy" Carter in the war. Of course, I recognized the name of Steve's first girlfriend.

"Bucky was my best friend," Steve said quietly from beside me. I glanced up to see his somber face. "Peggy was ..." Steve's expression grew distant as he gazed at the woman's face etched in glass. "Peggy was an extraordinary woman."

I felt a flash of jealousy.  _I wonder if he still loves her._  Mentally putting myself in his place, my jealousy somewhat turned into sympathy.  _What if I was suddenly cut off from someone I loved?_  My mind wandered to my memories of 2012, but I quickly reeled it back.

Selfishly, I felt glad to have Steve here in the 21st century.

I pointed underneath Peggy Carter's name, where it said, "April 9, 1921—" There was no death date. "Looks like she still is," I said. A knowing smile ghosted Steve's face. "Have you seen her since you woke up?"

I could already tell by his expression that the answer was no. "I have her phone number and address in England … I just haven't used them yet."

A distinct sadness crept onto his face; I felt a pang in my chest. "You should," I encouraged him.

He smiled, but I could tell the conversation was over. I felt a bit relieved — discussing his past relationships was not something I enjoyed. Hell, I didn't even like discussing my own past relationships. After walking through an amusing pseudo-iceberg exhibit, we left the museum hand in hand.

The National Gallery experience was a lot less emotional — we attempted to interpret modern art and admired old classics. Somehow, that day, I felt more at ease with Steve than ever before. Whether it was the confirmation of our relationship the day before or just familiarity, I didn't know. After the gallery, we ate an early dinner at a sunny cafe on the National Mall strip. We chatted as we watched clouds roll in from the south, bringing a chilly wind along with them.

The only free seats on the metro were across from each other. I mostly watched the weather outside on the quiet ride home, occasionally stealing glances at Steve. On an impulse, I made a funny face at him when we caught eyes, and to my enjoyment, he made one back.

Feeling the familiar blanket of sexual tension settle over the apartment, I stretched out on the couch while Steve flipped on some lights. The dark sky seemed on the verge of rain, and I watched the low-hanging clouds with a lazy gaze. "Should we watch a movie?" I asked when Steve joined me on the couch.

After he sat down, he rolled his shoulders back while moving his neck from side to side. "Of course," he said, handing me the remote. "I learned my lesson last night, so I'll let you pick."

I held back laughter and said, "If you insist." As I arrowed through the movies on Netflix, I couldn't help but notice Steve massaging his shoulder. It occurred to me that I had never seen Steve appear uncomfortable or hurt in any way. "Are you okay?" I asked, shooting him a glance.

Letting out an embarrassed laugh, he immediately stopped rubbing his shoulder. "Yes, it's just some soreness. It'll heal soon."

I tried to focus on finding a show for us while I watched Steve out of the corner of my eye. I eventually settled on  _Definitely, Maybe_ —a rom-com with Ryan Reynolds.

"Must have been pretty bad," I said, pulling my legs up on the couch. "Don't you have super healing?"

Steve laughed, folding his arms as he watched the opening credits of the movie. "I wouldn't put it that way, but—yeah."

I studied Steve with a frown as I once again considered asking him about the bruises I had seen. The nurse inside of me wouldn't have it any other way. As if sensing my gaze, Steve glanced over to lock eyes with me. "What's up?" he said, his eyes momentarily drifting down to my lips.

"I'm sorry if this is weird," I started hesitantly, "but I wanted to ask you about those bruises."

Realization settled on his face. "You noticed," he sighed. "I figured you would." I remained silent to allow him to explain. Based on our conversation when I first arrived in D.C., I had a decent idea. Steve continued, "The equipment that I'm stress-testing at work ... Let's just say, it's pretty effective."

My eyes narrowed. "The weapons, you mean."

Steve lifted a finger as if to argue but then let it fall aside. "Right," he confirmed.

"So, this organization you work for—" I waved my hand in front of me as if to fill in the blank. "They're testing weapons on you designed to take you down." His expression was impassive. "And you're okay with that?"

"It's not that simple," Steve countered, becoming suddenly serious. "In war, great power requires great restraint. Even the watchers need to be watched."

I took a moment to process what he had said. "You don't trust yourself to keep yourself in check?"

"It's not just me that needs to be kept in check," Steve said. "Some of us Avengers have incredible power—god-like power. Lowercase 'g,'" he added.

I would have laughed if the topic weren't so grave. The faces of the other Avengers flashed through my mind. "Like Thor? And Ironman?"

"All of us," Steve said. "You never know what could happen. I've seen things in my life that you wouldn't even believe."

I nodded slowly, imagining what he could possibly mean.  _The 2012 attacks definitely qualify._  Of course, Steve had fought in World War II. Unbelievable things happened even back then, on both sides. "I guess I understand," I admitted.

Steve nodded, seemingly content. "Good. I don't want you to think I'm … self-destructive."

"No, no," I said immediately, "I didn't think that. I was just worried about you." I shrugged. "It's a nurse thing."

Finally, Steve cracked a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Nurse Kate."

I smiled back, satisfied, and returned my attention to the movie. After a few minutes, I became hyper-aware of the proximity of our bodies. Recalling the awkward space between us the last time we watched a movie, I boldly leaned ever so slightly against Steve's arm. He responded by shifting his legs closer to mine, without touching, and I took this as a good sign.

Steve had a lot of questions throughout the movie, and I could tell he wasn't quite following the story. Although, I did enjoy the sound of his low, throaty chuckles at the jokes he found funny. About an hour through the movie, he started to rub his shoulder again.

"Need help with that?" I asked.

Once again, his hand fell away. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

Deciding to be risky, I reached over to replace his hand with mine anyway. I massaged his trapezius and found a tight spot right away, focusing my attention there. When he winced, I pulled my hand away, murmuring, "Sorry..."

"No—that felt good," Steve said in a hushed voice that sent tingles through my spine. " _Really_  good."

"Okay," I said through a smile, picking up where I left off. Steve's shoulder loosened up after a couple of minutes, so I switched to the other one. I found another knotted muscle there. "You're so tense," I mused.

"It's not every day I get a shoulder massage," Steve reminded me, sitting up when I prompted him. With the extra space, I ran both my hands over his shoulders and upper back. I indulged in the closeness.

"You could change that. But remember, I charge by the hour." I felt the rumble of Steve's laugh through my fingertips. When I pressed down with both my thumbs to massage deeper, I heard a quiet groan. It sent a bolt of lightning straight through my abdomen.

"Sounds great," Steve said.

I continued until each tense muscle group was loosened, and then I kept going just for fun. I recalled that rubbing his back had been a fantasy of mine ever since I saw him in those tight running shirts of his. Like the rest of him, his back was so broad and toned and, well,  _amazing_.

Steve's voice drew me out of my thoughts. "Where did you learn how to do this?"

"I had a roommate in college that would give me back rubs. I just copy her," I explained, letting my hands drift lower. I found more tense muscles in his middle back.

After a few more minutes, Steve turned halfway to look at me. He wore a grateful smile. "Your turn," he said, motioning me forward.

"You don't have to," I said. "I enjoy doing it."

Steve gently took me by the shoulders to position me on the edge of the couch, facing slightly away from the TV. I noticed raindrops pattering against the dining room window. "I will, too."

Feeling a rush of excitement, I pulled my hair over my shoulder and straightened my back. At first, Steve's touch was so light that it felt more like petting than massaging. He caught on before too long; his deep pinches and wide strokes made me hum in satisfaction. "Feels good," I breathed.

"Good," Steve said from behind. His broad hands traveled up and down my back, sometimes brushing the back of my neck. When my hair fell over my shoulder, he swept it back before I had the chance. Somehow, I enjoyed this more than kissing; there was less pressure, fewer consequences. My body was humming, and I basked in the feeling.

"What's your favorite massage?" Steve asked.

When I opened my eyes to answer, I realized I hadn't been paying attention to the movie. The end credits were scrolling up the screen. "I carry most my stress in my lower back, so probably that." Steve's hands moved to the small of my back, but the angle was awkward. "It's better lying down," I laughed.

A long pause followed, and then Steve said, "Would you like to go lie down?"

I tried to withhold the eagerness from my voice. "Sure."

Steve pulled the bedroom curtains mostly shut, leaving behind a dim glow in the room. Hoping not to ruin the moment, I avoided eye contact with him as I laid face down with my head on my arms. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed and I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of the rain thrumming on the roof. His hands started on my upper back, working their way down to the hard muscles of my lower back.

"You  _are_  tense here," Steve murmured, digging in with his thumbs.

I let out a long sigh, melting at his touch. "Not anymore."

As he continued, I felt him tug the hem of my shirt down every so often to keep my skin covered. The massage was great, but the fabric separating us was annoying. My thoughts began to wander to us in bed, ripping each other's clothes off as fast as we could—

And then his hands slipped underneath my shirt.

"Is this okay?" he asked immediately, hands frozen.

"Yes," I said, feeling my pulse racing. Sensuality or "foreplay" wasn't something I usually enjoyed, but this was something else entirely. My entire body felt like it had been lit on fire.  _Maybe I just haven't been with a guy that does it right._

Steve's warm hands slipped up my bare back and all the way down, tracing my spine as they went. I felt like putty in his hands. Minutes slipped by while I floated there—totally oblivious to the world except for Steve's hands. They never left the confines of my back or even unsnapped my bra. But it was enough.

"Steve," I eventually murmured, "I'm about to fall asleep." A sleepy laugh escaped me.

I heard Steve's chuckle through the dark room, and then he guided me towards the top of the bed. He pulled the blankets back while I slipped underneath. As he pulled them up to cover me, I grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Stay with me," I whispered.

I could sense his hesitation. Although he pulled my hand away, I heard him say, "Okay." A minute later, I felt him get into bed from the other side, sliding under the sheets next to me. He found my hand between the sheets and placed it on his chest, our fingers intertwined. My heart thudded in my chest, swelling with warmth and affection.

_I'm in bed with Steve,_  the back of my mind said.

I suddenly realized I was not sleepy at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic has crossed my mind many times since seeing Winter Soldier all those years ago, so I finally decided to write it. Agent 13, Sharon Carter, was undercover as Steve's neighbor "Kate the nurse" in the movie. This is my headcanon of who Kate might have been. Let me know what you think in a review :) -Scarlet


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